


Spiral

by patriciatepes



Series: Spiral into Madness [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman: The Animated Series, Batman: The Killing Joke (Comics)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Choking, Cunnilingus, Dark, Doggy Style, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Forbidden Love, Gags, Guilt, Held Hostage, Hostage Situations, Joker is not a nice person, Kidnapped, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Mild Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, Miscarriage, Mouth Fucking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Psychological Torture, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Sexual Tension, Spying, Suspicions, Torture, Vaginal Sex, jerking off, messing with timelines, referenced 69, seriously he's not, surprise anal sex, witnessing a murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2020-10-26 14:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 66,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20743715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patriciatepes/pseuds/patriciatepes
Summary: Canon Divergent AU or a Mixed-up AU.  See Author’s Note for explanation.  When a random act by Barbara Gordon leads to not only making the Joker a free man, but a celebrity of sorts, things begin to go down an unusual path for the daughter of the Police Commissioner.  Is Joker really as bad as everyone says he is?  Barbara is about to be the only person to know for sure.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for darkpathsbang over at LiveJournal. Now, I had this little crazy idea come to me in a dream. In fact, like the first two chapters entirely happened in this dream. I’ve had to mess with some timelines, like the ages of characters like the Bat Family for example. If you’re wondering what model I’m using for the characters’ visual looks, think Batman: the Animated Series—for those that appeared there. I’ve taken inspiration from The Animated Series, as well as some of my favorite Graphic novels—Devil’s Advocate, Mad Love, The Killing Joke—plus bits and pieces of whenever and wherever I’ve seen the Joker. And this isn’t a “Barbara becomes Harley” story. Harley is still Harley, wink. Trust me for this ride, okay? Enjoy.
> 
> Also, art is by the lovely TwistedSlinky

The trial of the Clown Prince of Crime, the Joker, was more like a circus—no puns intended. The media coverage was almost obscene. If someone in the peanut gallery so much as picked their nose, odds were that the cameras caught it. It made a kind of sense, though, the coverage. After all, the criminal trial of the Joker was something that no citizen of Gotham City thought they would ever live to see. Usually, it was “apprehended by the Batman,” “plea of insanity,” and then “sent to Arkham for rehabilitation.” Inevitably, of course, this was followed by headlines detailing his escape, and the cycle began anew. 

So, when the city’s new DA, Shelia Miles, decided that the city would not, under any circumstances, be accepting the insanity plea, it turned Gothamites on their heads. Add to that the fact that she was seeking capital punishment for his various crimes. The media went wild. 

The trial, after a few months, was finally winding down. Joker had managed an amazing lawyer—and no one really asked how, since most could guess—and it was estimated that only a good three weeks were left in the Trial of the Century—as the media was billing it. At the end of Monday, at the beginning of the first of those three weeks, Joker’s lawyer addressed not only the courtroom, but the citizens watching at home.

“I issue a challenge, to those here and at home. I argue that every one of us, every _one_, can, on some level, understand the Joker. We can empathize with him. What one of us hasn’t experienced heartache? Personal tragedy? This man has lost everything, and despite the DA’s lack of acceptance, still pleas insanity—albeit temporary. Who among us can honestly, upon hearing the man’s own words, not understand where they come from? So, I say to you, citizens of this fine city… write my closing statements.”

The lawyer, Mr. Murphy, paused here for the gasps that filled the courtroom. After a moment, he lifted his hands. The room fell quiet once more, and he continued.

“I know. It sounds… unorthodox. But that’s the point. All of us… we all get a little crazy sometimes. And I want you, the citizens of Gotham, to prove me right. Tell Ms. Miles and the rest of the world why Joker should be a free man. Thank you.”

At this, a reel of a previous session played, showing the Joker’s own testimony. He was tearful, remorseful, and he was actually begging the forgiveness of the city and of his many victims’ families. (His most recent crime had caused an explosion on a downtown block, killing several and injuring more.)

The recorded tape being played for the debate class of Gotham High School stopped there, and Barbara Gordon—three weeks out from being a high school graduate on her way to college in the Fall—marveled at the fact that Mrs. Walker even still had the ability to use VHS tapes. She wondered, as the graying, squat woman wheeled away the TV cart, if she knew that recordable DVDs did in fact exist. 

“Now, that was yesterday’s courtroom session, and wasn’t that fascinating?” Walker asked.

An answering snore from somewhere around the back of the room set the students into giggles. Barbara rolled her eyes, but even she fought a grin. Mrs. Walker crossed her arms over her sagging chest, her eyes—sharp like a hawk’s and a bright amber that belied her age—focused in on the offending student.

“That will be _quite_ enough. And you’d do well to wake up, since Mr. Murphy just issued your final exam.”

Now, the class was filled with murmurs. Barbara—dressed in a pair of black jeans and some band shirt (she didn’t really know the band)—sat straighter in her chair. Walker smiled in satisfaction. 

“That’s right,” the teacher nodded. “I want each one of you to write that closing statement. I could guess, honestly, your _true_ opinion on the matter of Joker’s guilt or innocence. We all live in the same city. But that’s the challenge. Sometimes, in debate, you have to argue someone else’s point. So, argue his innocence. Argue why he should be free.” She checked her watch. “You have about thirty-five minutes left. Start working on your draft. This is due Friday, folks.”

Students began to shuffle, flipping over notebooks, grabbing pens and pencils, scribbling or tapping the instrument against a blank page. Barbara, despite trying to appear like a rebel in her black clothes—and her hair dyed black with blood red, rather than her natural ginger-red—was quite the student. Her notebook lay open, her pen laid across the lined paper. She picked it up, blinking at the page.

She was the daughter of the Gotham City Police’s Commissioner. To even think of her writing in the Joker’s defense was laughable. Really, though they denied it, they even had the damn Bat Signal on the roof of the department’s main building—she’d seen it. She became one of the pen-rappers, tapping the end of it rhythmically on the notebook. Beside her, Mrs. Walker swept past. Barbara turned, just a tad, in her seat to look. Sure enough, she was heading toward the snoring student, one Jason Todd. Though her voice was quiet, Barbara could tell that the teacher was chastising him over his behavior—an event that occurred regularly in some classes for him.

Barbara bit her lip. Jason and she had shared classes for the last three years or so, since he had come to Gotham High as the new ward of Boy Billionaire, Bruce Wayne. He easily won people over, always laughing and joking. Even now, he flashed Mrs. Walker a winning smile and spoke softly to her, which seemed to placate her. Barbara averted her gaze when the teacher returned to the front—where Barbara sat—and sat down behind her desk, to pour over paperwork. Sure that Walker wasn’t looking, Barbara chanced another glance back at Jason, who had thrown an arm around Karen Taylor—the head cheerleader, of course. It was almost clichéd. 

In the three years that she had known Jason, he had talked with her just a handful of times. Mostly when he needed help with homework or something of the like. Barbara, meanwhile, thought he was the most gorgeous boy in school with his chocolate brown hair—cut short—and equally colored eyes. His face was square, already taking on the look of a sophisticated man instead of a high school adolescent. He was her crush, no matter how childish it made her feel to think of it that way… but he never gave her the time of day.

It didn’t really set him apart from most of the people in her life. Her father was a bigshot police officer who had worked his way up to Commissioner, where the job was not easier. Her mother was dead—having passed four years ago due to a particularly aggressive cancer. Her father had not seemed too beat-up over it, though—in Barbara’s opinion. After all, he stepped out on the then Mrs. Gordon several times after her diagnosis, and before her death. Now, his mistress was Barbara’s stepmother, Sarah Essen. 

Barbara turned back to her notebook, lifting the pen. A weird feeling overtook her then, following the thought, _I had felt crazy_. She realized that now, sitting on the cusp of one era of her life ending and another beginning, she still felt a little crazy with the stress of it all. If even one iota of what Joker had said was true in his testimony, where he had mentioned a dead wife and unborn child, then maybe, yes… Barbara could understand. She hunched over her page, placing the ballpoint to the page.

“_Everyone has had at least one bad day. Just one bad day where the worst has happened_…”

#

Graduation had been a fun affair, surprisingly. Barbara had attended no parties, had had scholarships lavished upon her, and had had her dad make his famous lasagna for dinner that night. Honestly, given everything that had happened the last few years of her life, it was the first truly peaceful night she had had in a while, with both Jim and Sarah telling her how proud they were of her. She tried not to sound resentful when she accepted the praise from Sarah. 

Now, just days into being a high school grad, Barbara was antsy. Her dad had told her to waylay taking a summer job, instead wanting her to spend her last “free” summer with him. And, this particular afternoon, he wasn’t even home. Instead, she was home alone with Sarah, who had the day off of work from the station—where she was lieutenant—watching the last day of Joker’s trial on television. Honestly, the fall couldn’t come fast enough. Jim had decided to attend the trial that day, and his white hair was easily visible from shots of the back of the gallery on the television. Barbara sat on the opposite end of the couch from her stepmother, neither woman saying anything to the other, simply watching as the lawyers prepared their closing statement. 

The DA’s statement was one of cold, hard facts. It displayed the Joker as the criminal mastermind she believed he was and asked the jury to finally make Gotham safe again by delivering the verdict this city needed. Once she was seated, looking stony-faced for the camera, Mr. Murphy stood, a piece of folded paper in his hands. Barbara’s brows rose. She had forgotten about this, in all the hustle and bustle of graduation. She had forgotten the lawyer’s little contest of sorts. He cleared his throat, and Sarah shook her head.

“This ought to be good,” Essen muttered.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, as you remember, I reached out, three weeks previous, to the citizens of Gotham and asked them to write this statement for me. I’ve heard some of the thoughts of those here, rest assured. I heard the doubt. But I did receive several such statements… one, however, did catch my eye. Within it, I found the words that have eluded me. That perfectly conveyed why we should have a verdict of not guilty. Now, the true author shall remain anonymous, for reasons I should hope are obvious. But, I submit for the jury, my closing statement, written by one of the city’s own.”

He cleared his throat again, and then began.

“_Everyone has had at least one bad day. Just one bad day where the worst has happened_…”

Barbara felt the air being knocked from her lungs. The speech continued on, and it seemed to fully encapsulate her very thoughts. It was hers. He had chosen _her_ speech. Had Mrs. Walker _sent_ it in? Whatever for? The damned teacher had said it herself, she knew people’s _real_ feelings behind the Joker. Just because Barbara could understand, just for a minute, didn’t make him any less guilty of murder… did it? She dared a glance over at her stepmother, who stared, her lips slightly parted, at the screen. She was clearly fighting a dropped jaw look—shocked that anyone could argue in favor of the Clown Prince of Crime. Barbara felt like an idiot. Murphy came to the close of her paper, after what seemed like an eternity.

“_So, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, before you make your final decision, ask yourselves these questions: haven’t you ever had a very bad day, and if you had had the power to do something about it, wouldn’t you have?_ Thank you.”

When Murphy retook his seat, the usually composed Ms. Miles was staring gaped-mouthed at him. The judge banged his gavel, calling for the Jury to now adjourn to deliberate the evidence seen over the trial and the closing arguments to make their decisions. As soon as the jurors began to file out, the media went crazy, snapping pictures and shouting questions in Mr. Murphy’s and Ms. Miles’s direction. Joker, for his part, sat with his frozen smile, the picture of innocence, beside his lawyer. Sarah shook her head.

“Absolute insanity,” she muttered.

Barbara let out a breath she had been holding, feeling dizzy, and hastily excused herself from the room. She didn’t stop until she was in her own bedroom with the door shut. She sat down on the edge of her bed and pressed a hand to her heart. The same words played over and over in her mind: her speech, her speech, her speech. What if her father ever found out? She knew, in her logical mind, that this was crazy. They hadn’t given her name and said it would remain anonymous for “obvious reasons.” Yes, since most of Gotham would want her dead or worse if they ever knew. Not to mention the media frenzy that would follow finding out that the commissioner’s daughter had written in favor of the freaking Joker. 

She crawled into her bed, laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She focused on her breathing and nothing else, working it back into a steady rhythm. There was nothing to worry about, she began to tell herself. Nothing at all. She worked these words over in her mind over and over until a pleasant numbness fell over her.

She had no idea how long she was in her room. It didn’t seem like long enough when Sarah gently knocked on the door.

“Barbara?”

Barbara sat bolt upright, wondering briefly if she had fallen asleep. “Yeah?”

“Jury’s back. They’re about to give the verdict. I thought… you might wanna see?”

Barbara glanced over at her alarm clock. It had only been three hours, maybe. A quick verdict. She had no idea what that meant, but she suddenly felt like she had a rock in her gut.

“Yeah,” she said, opening the room’s door. “Yeah, I wanna see.”

She and her stepmother moved up the hall and back into the living room, finding that the jury was already settling back into their seats. Neither Essen nor Barbara sat, instead standing against the back of the couch. Barbara gripped the cushion in her hands as the Head Juror stood, a slip of white paper in her hand.

“Have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked.

“We have, your honor. We, the jury, find the defendant, the Joker… Not guilty.”

A roar filled the room, and the judge immediately started banging his gavel, trying to regain order. Barbara swayed on her feet, thankful for her grip on the couch. She glanced over at Sarah, who was now slack jawed. The commotion on the television died down, and the judge cleared his throat.

“Very well. This court is adjourned.”

The roar started again, and Barbara’s heart hammered against her chest. The Joker was a free man.

Because of her. 


	2. Chapter Two

The summer passed far quicker than Barbara would have expected it to, especially given that she did next to nothing the entirety of the three months. Her father had talked her out of a summer job, saying she had enough scholarship money to pay for everything her first couple of semesters. He had said that this was the last summer that would just be for him and her, and he didn’t want to have to schedule around a summer job to see her. She had been elated to hear this, and readily agreed to taking no work. However, then duty called, and she pretty much saw her father as often as she had while in high school. And the nights he was home, he usually ended up grumbling something about the Joker—a subject which Barbara was trying very hard to avoid.

It was difficult, though, considering the aftermath of the verdict. Joker was a free man, provided he received therapy at Arkham on a regular schedule--this was something he had volunteered for, to ease the public's mind. So far, the Clown Prince had held true, and he had even—seemingly—given up his life of crime. Jim Gordon didn’t believe that for an instant, but Barbara was having a hard time trying to figure out why not. After he was freed, the media wanted anything and everything to do with the Joker. He was no longer infamous, but famous—an overnight celebrity. He had book deals, booked talk show after talk show, and there was even talks of a movie being made about his life. He currently occupied a penthouse atop one of Gotham’s most prominent skyscraper apartments. He was not only free because of Barbara, but also rich. She thanked God everyday for her continued anonymity concerning her part in his trial.

But that was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. Right now, it was an early September morning, the first day of the fall semester at Gotham University, and it was positively pouring down rain. The rain was unrelenting, and it had, of course, started after she had turned down a ride from her father to the university’s campus. She had not wanted to seem like a child, instead telling her father that she would walk the couple of blocks into the more mainstream part of the city and then hail a cab. She was nearly in the city when the bottom fell out and the rain began to fall in sheets. She had packed an umbrella, having had the foresight to check the weather. Of course, this had been on a talk show that Sarah had been watching, featuring everyone’s favorite guest—the Joker. It had been local fare, but the audience in studio had hung on his every word. So, now that she was firmly standing inside the greater city limits, she found that no cab would give her the time of day. She counted three, at least, that passed her by. Groaning, she hit the button on her umbrella, only to see it open halfway and get stuck. Her hair—now back to its natural red—was slicking close to her face as she struggled with the blue umbrella.

“Taxi!” she called as yet another passed by. She resisted the urge to flip it off.

She checked her watch. She had a smidge over an hour left to get to her first class. It was plenty of time provided that she caught a ride sometime within the next ten minutes. She pushed on the middle-inside of the umbrella with all her strength, even jumping a bit in aggravation as she did. It was all in vain. She almost chucked the umbrella to the side, to lay abandoned, until her father’s voice in her mind reminded her that littering was not only a crime, but horrible for Mother Earth. She huffed, and the sound came out as a splutter in the rain. Her hair remained plastered to her head and shoulders, and now her clothes—darkly colored, thank God—were sticking to her now like a second skin. She hadn’t even been away from her house for that long.

Sidling up to the curb in front of her came a limousine, black with darkly tinted windows. The limo stopped where the back, driver’s side door was just a little askew from where she was standing. The driver’s door opened, and a gorilla of a man stepped out, his own black umbrella popping open without trouble. Barbara made to step back, to get out of the man’s way, when he suddenly said, in a booming voice, “Miss Gordon?”

She froze. Out of habit, because she did in fact live in Gotham, her hand slid into her bag, searching for her house keys and the mace attached to them. “Y-yes?” she responded.

“Ma’am, my employer would like to speak to you,” he said, moving slightly past her to open that back door. “If you please?”

“I, um, was taught pretty young not to take rides from strangers. My dad is a cop, you know.”

The driver—who easily towered over her, was thick in every visible part of his body, and had either a dark tan or was of a Latin descent—flashed some pearly whites at her.

“You’re the commissioner’s daughter. My employer is aware. He offers only a ride to school, so that the two of you can talk. No harm will come to you.”

“How can I know that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “He told me that he gives you his word. Plus, in another few minutes, you’ll be running real late. Plus, you’re drenched. Walkin’ in this weather won’t be easy. And, given the distance, it’s nearly impossible.”

All very real, very true points. Barbara turned, looking back from the way she had come, in the direction of her house. Was she just about to be the world’s biggest idiot? A shadow fell over her, and she turned to see that the man had held out his umbrella, shielding her from the cold rain.

“Straight to school?”

He nodded. “Straight to Gotham U. I swear.”

She huffed. “Fine.”

This time, she did chuck the umbrella, littering be damned, and all but ran into the back of the limo before she could change her mind. She slid into the seat set facing the rear of the vehicle, and she was instantly chilled by the leather beneath her. The interior was darker than the outside, but not so dark that she felt uncomfortable. The door shut almost the instant she was fully inside, followed by the driver’s door. She was dripping water all over the place, and before she could even look up to acknowledge the person whose presence she could _feel_ across from her, a towel was held out under her nose.

“Thanks,” she said, taking it and immediately drying herself as best she could.

She was working it through her hair when an all-too familiar voice said, “Don’t mention it.”

Barbara was sure her heart had stopped. She forced herself to look across the floorboard, and she fought against the shaking her body wanted to do. Sitting there, dressed in his usual purple suit, coat, and hat, was the Joker. His frozen grin was fixated on her, and it felt like it was suddenly the hardest thing in the world to breathe. Slowly, he leaned forward and gently tugged the towel out of her grip.

“Breathe, Babs. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She heard the doors lock into place as she felt the limo pull back out into traffic. Her hands were still curled into the position of holding the towel, and Joker’s pale face seemed to be glowing against the gloom of the day. She sucked in a deep breath, eyeing his relaxed figure across from hers. He was leaned back against the seat, his legs crossed ankle over knee, and his arms stretched out on either side of him across the back of the seat. By contrast, she sat forward in her seat, back rigidly straight and knees pressed tightly together.

“I-I don’t go by that name,” she stammered.

“Why not? ‘Babs’ is cute,” he chuckled.

The sound was… different. It was nothing like the cackling, trailing peals of laughter she had seen on old news reports of his previous captures. It was like it was… restrained, like he was holding consciously back. It made the sound a little lower, and a lot scarier. 

“I meant what I said,” he said, gesturing to her seat. “Relax. I have no interest in hurting you. Besides, I’m reformed. Though, I _know_ you know that.”

Barbara all but fell back against her seat. She pressed her lips together and eyed Gotham’s own personal boogeyman. He brought his arms down to rest on his legs, and he leaned forward, just a touch. Barbara pressed her back against the chilled leather, trying her best however to make it look like this _wasn’t_ what she was doing.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she muttered.

He let out a single “Ha,” and shook his head. He leaned back again, whipping his hat off to run a hand through his acid-green hair. Barbara’s heart was back to beating, but now was hammering so hard in her chest it was aching. Her “contribution” to his trial had been totally and utterly anonymous. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know.

“Oh, Miss Gordon… I do wish you would calm yourself. I would never hurt a friend,” he smiled at her.

Given the fact that he was always smiling, Barbara had never thought about the fact that his toothy grin could go even wider, but it did. Now, it was like she was having a conversation with a shark that had smelled blood in the water. Slowly, her hand moved toward the pocket of her jeans, just in case she needed her keychain mace. But, being in a moving vehicle with locked doors really didn’t give her good odds of survival, even with the mace. She had truly been an idiot to get into this car.

“I’m the daughter of the guy who has tried, and is probably still trying, to put you on Death Row. W-why would you say that I’m a friend? Why should I believe that?” she said, speaking slowly.

She was gymnast and had taken—by order of her father—a couple of different classes on fighting and self-defense. But, now, sitting across from Gotham’s former Public Enemy Number One, her arms felt like gelatin… or lead… or some strange combination of the two.

“Oh, come now… How safe did you think you were behind that whole _anonymous_ thing? I mean, sure, the greater population of Gotham still doesn’t know, I’m sure… but from me? A high school isn’t exactly Fort Knox, Babs, even in today’s day and age. Also, I saw your yearbook picture… I’m glad you’re back to your original red. It suits you.”

Her worst nightmare had come true. Her eyes doubled in size. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. But her voice was frozen. After all, what did one say in this situation? She couldn’t deny it. She had written the closing statement, and one of the maybe five or six people in the world she really didn’t want to have that knowledge, had it. 

“I—”

His grin, impossibly she would have thought, widened more. She closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath. It was out there, now. At least, in this car it was. When she opened her eyes again, she locked them on the Clown Prince.

“What do you want?”

He chuckled again—and, again, it was that same restrained, half-choked laugh.

“Oh, so serious. My dear, I simply wanted to thank you.”

She arched a brow. “Thank me?”

“But of course! Why, you’re the reason I’m free… and I’m betting you know that. But, more to the point, I was greatly moved by your closing statement. I mean, in this whole dismal burg, you—the commissioner’s own daughter, at that—was the only one who _got_ it. My lawyer, he let me read all the statements after the fact—names redacted, of course. A few were just… cloying fan-worshippers. Flattering, but, still… There were a couple that were trying to plea that I hadn’t even committed the crimes I was being tried for… that it was like… Aliens, or some other nonsense. Now, as much as I regret it all… I won’t deny it. I was loonier than a loon.”

Barbara just stared at him as he gave this explanation. Had he just openly confessed to killing all those people? Had he done that at the trial? She was struggling, in the moment, to remember. 

“But then, yours… _yours_! You just… the words, the comparisons… you _got_ it. It was like you understood me on a… molecular level! I couldn’t believe that such a person existed… then, when I dug about, and found the name attached to those lovely little words… I was all the more surprised. So, Miss Barbara Gordon… thank you.”

How did one take it when the most notorious killer thanks them for “getting it”? And had she? Had she really understood him? She had simply been writing about her own experiences, her own “what ifs.” Had they really been so similar to the way he thought, every day? Every crime? Barbara was still uncomfortable, but now for an entirely different reason.

“So… you picked me up, are taking me to school, and dropping me off… so that you could thank me?” she asked.

“I told you, no harm,” he said.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she said. 

“More eloquent on paper, eh?”

She frowned at him. “More eloquent when I don’t feel like my life is in danger.”

He let out another low chuckle. “Funny. That was funny.”

“I’m not even sure why I wrote that statement. It was just a stupid class assignment for debate.”

She wasn’t sure why she said it. Maybe she had a death wish. Maybe she was just curious about how far this promise of “no harm” went. The Joker laughed… again.

“I don’t believe that. Well, not entirely. I believe that you don’t fully understand why you wrote what you wrote… but it’s in you. You’ve just yet to crack that surface.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll understand someday, kiddo.”

Barbara opened her mouth, about to protest, when the limo pulled to a complete stop. Joker turned, glancing out of the tinted windows.

“That’s your stop, Babs. Now, I know daddy dearest would probably not approve, but I’d love to see you again. Take you to dinner, to properly thank you. Maybe even pick your brain some more.”

He flicked his fingers, and a small, white business card appeared—held between his index and middle fingers—as if from nowhere. He held it out to her, and Barbara—not without some hesitation—took it. It was simple, only the letter “J” and a phone number written on it in purple, of course. Joker reached forward and opened the door. Barbara leaned forward and found that they had, as promised, brought her to Gotham University’s campus. The rain had slacked to a drizzle. She turned and managed to offer her escort a tiny smile.

“Thanks. I’ll… I’ll think about it,” she said, sliding out of the limo as quickly as she could with her bag and umbrella in tow. 

“Do. Ciao,” he said.

He pulled the door shut and the limo drove away. Barbara stood there for a moment, blinking. Then, trying to master her quaking limbs, she turned and began to trek across the campus. Her greatest task now, it seemed was trying to pretend that her day was normal after a start like that… First day at college was now a piece of cake.


	3. Chapter Three

The building Barbara sought—the home of her English Composition I class—was on the third floor of a building that was pretty much a straight shot from where the Joker had dropped her off.

She almost fell into the nearest empty chair in the classroom at that thought. Had that just happened? Had she really just ridden with—and survived—the Joker? Her body was moving without her conscious thought, pulling out notebooks and pens and piling them on her desk—which was situated against the wall, about halfway up a row. The professor entered the room, and she barely turned her head to acknowledge him. In all honesty, this class really needed only minimal attention—which was good, given her morning. It was just a basic, the first steppingstone to the classes that would pertain to her chosen major. And she had always gotten high grades in English. So, her mind wandered…

She reached into her pocket and fingered the business card she had there. What would happen now? Now that the Joker knew the truth? That it was her? And was it all real? Did he really just want to get to know her, the woman responsible for his freedom? She had lived all her life in this city, scared to death of the Joker… that part of her screamed at her run as far and as fast as possible.

She was vaguely aware when “Gordon, Barbara,” was called, and she answered reflexively. The teacher seemed satisfied by her answer, continuing down the roll call. She bit her bottom lip, staring down at the tan, faux wooden desktop in front of her. The “what ifs” she had written about in her closing statements was screaming back to life in her head. A few new ones were being added as well. What if the Joker was simply misunderstood? Her logical brain immediately countered that one. After all, wouldn’t he had stopped killing long ago if it had just been the shock of grief and physical transformation causing his insanity? But then…

She could go around and round for days, and she forced her hands out of her pockets and away from that card. She flattened them on the desk’s surface, knowing that if she kept touching the card, she would tear it to pieces—unconsciously or not. She nearly jumped a mile high when she heard “Todd, Jason,” suddenly called. As if returning from an out of body experience, she whirled, gazing about the class.

And there he was. He was seated at the back of class, as usual, dressed in a pair of jeans and some sort of sports tee, his hair in an artful mess. He looked like every other guy, and Barbara had a feeling that that was his ultimate goal. Pay no attention to the billionaire behind the curtain. He wasn’t surrounded by a crowd of adoring friends. Instead, he sat straight up, hands resting on his desk. He answered simply, “Here.” Barbara’s attention whirled back to the professor, who arched a questioning brow, but moved on. 

Class began shortly after that. A syllabus was passed about, and they spent the better part of time going over it, the teacher’s expectations, and answering questions. Finally, the professor looked up over the student’s heads and declared that class was over. He was the first out of the door. Barbara almost smiled at that. 

Slowly, she gathered up her own items, shoving them inside of her bag, when a shadow fell over her. She jumped, looking up. She was met with sparkling brown eyes and a smile that had the smallest of dimples on the right side of his face.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, Barbara. Just wanted to say hey. It’s good to see a familiar face,” he said. 

He took a step back, so she could stand, and she managed a smile, despite her still unstable stomach. “Yeah. Yeah, I hear that. Hi, Jason.”

He laughed, not the restrained one of the Joker, but a real one, full of light. “Hi. So, what made you choose Gotham U? You could’ve gone anywhere else, I bet.”

She shrugged. “Scholarships only get you so far. And despite the fact that Dad makes a good living, college is still expensive. We had no savings for it, of course.”

She rolled her eyes, then mentally screamed at herself. He didn’t want to, nor needed to, hear her woes about her home life. She switched gears before he could offer up a reply. “So, what about you? Adopted ward of the richest guy in this country. Why did you go here?”

“Gotham’s my home. I… I couldn’t ever dream leaving it here alone… unprotected.”

“Unprotected? Are you, what, like a volunteer firefighter or something? Oh, Lord, tell me you aren’t a police cadet.”

He laughed. “No, no. It’s just… I used to live on the streets, you know? So, I try to keep an eye on those that still do. I couldn’t leave those people behind.”

Barbara stopped just shy of letting out an “aww.” She started to invite him to lunch, feeling confident as she was sure that having survived a car ride with the Joker was equal to having a near-death experience, when a high-pitched, bubbly voice cut through her words. 

“Jason!”

Both Jason and Barbara turned to see a blonde, buxom beauty of a woman bobbing about in the doorway in the tightest sweater she could find, along with the shortest skirt. Jason flashed her a grin.

“Just a sec,” he said, before turning back to Barbara. “Well, I have to confess, there’s another reason I was glad to see a familiar face. Could I ask you for a huge favor? See, I was never any good at English. I never know when to comma, and when to not. When it comes time for those papers the teacher was mentioning, could you, I don’t know, tutor me or something? I’ll pay, of course, for your time. I’m going to school on someone else’s dime, which I didn’t earn… I don’t want to screw this up.”

Barbara glanced from him, to the grinning blonde in the doorway. She had the worse feeling that she was in the process of getting used. She was about to deny Jason, tell him to go through the library for tutors, like everyone else. But, he flashed her that grin, and her resolve deflated. 

“Sure. No problem. Could use the cash,” she muttered.

“Thanks, Babs. You’re the best. See you around, okay?” he said, turning and running off with blondie.

Barbara almost visibly flinched at the shortening of her name, flashes of too-pale skin and acid green hair in her mind. She shook it off and left the classroom, giving herself a fifteen second count before doing so.

She attended the rest of her classes for the day—two more of them—thankfully not running into Jason nor anyone else she knew. She was still a little miffed that apparently all Jason had ever noticed about her was her mad grammar skills. She sighed, wishing she hadn’t thought those lame words. The rain had significantly let up by the time that her classes were over, and she walked a good bit into downtown Gotham before finally hailing a cab. Blessedly, it was a cab this time, and rather quickly. 

Things were quiet at the Gordon household, with Sarah in the kitchen preparing dinner, and her father relaxing in front of the television. He beamed brightly up at her when she entered the house.

“Hey, how was the first day, kiddo?” he asked, patting the seat cushion next to him.

She hesitated, trying to decide if she was going to tell her dad, the commissioner with a slight vendetta against the former Clown Prince of Crime, who her ride to school had ended up being. In the end, she wished for peace and plopped down next to her dad, letting him scoop her into a tight hug.

“It was great. It’s all just basics this semester, so I don’t think I’ll have any trouble,” she said.

“That’s my smart girl. But… you don’t seem as excited as you were this morning. Did something happen?”

Everything that made Gotham weird had happened, but to hell if she was going to tell him that. She managed a grin and shook her head. “No. Just tired. Got lazy over the summer.”

She ended up getting up shortly after that to help Sarah set the table—it was a simple meal of spaghetti and meatballs, given that everyone had been out of the house that day. Each of them took a seat, said grace, and then dug in. Sarah asked Barbara about her first day, and Barbara answered the same as she had with her father, only this time in between bites of pasta. It was silent a bit before Barbara felt like it was expected of her to ask Sarah the same question. Sarah beamed at her when she did.

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. Filed a ton of paperwork. Oh, and then I heard a co-worker talking about the Joker’s new book coming out.”

Thankfully, the screech of Barbara’s fork was covered by the clattering of Jim’s being tossed down. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “Is that accurate info?”

Sarah nodded. “Yeah. I looked it up after got done talking with her. It’s due out in a couple of months. It’s supposed to be a hybrid between self-help and autobiography, according to the Editor’s Notes.”

“This is bullshit,” Gordon snarled.

“Jim,” Sarah chided.

“I’m nineteen in two days. I’ve heard it before,” Barbara sighed.

“Still,” Sarah noted.

Still… what? Jim distracted her though with his next words.

“There is no damn reason why that maniac should be free. You’ve been at his crime scenes, same as I. He’s practically an evil genius, the level he planned those things. I tell you, whoever wrote that closing statement is as crazy as he is, though. I mean, who the hell could ever see things through his point of view if not another psycho?”

Barbara choked on a bit of spaghetti but recovered quickly enough. “May I be excused?”

“Sure,” Jim said dismissively, and Barbara didn’t wait to see if Sarah protested.

She walked quickly to her room, shutting the door quietly behind her. She leaned against it and pulled out the Joker’s business card. She stared at it, and when she saw it was blurry was the first moment she realized that she was crying. She took a deep breath, waiting to see if she heard footsteps coming toward her, in case either Jim or Sarah had noticed. After a while, when no one came, she breathed a sigh of relief.

She stared back at the card. Was she crazy, like her dad supposed? Of course, he had no idea he had been speaking of his own daughter, but didn’t that help him relate his true feelings? Had the words she used that inevitably freed the Joker been so foreign to everyone else in this town? She eyed the card. There was one way to find out.

She crossed the room, pulled her phone out of her bag, and dialed the number quickly—so as to not change her mind. The line rang once, twice, then was answered with a sing-songy, “Hello?”

“Um, yeah, hi. This is Barbara. Gordon,” she stumbled.

“Ah, Babs. I was _so_ hoping I would hear from you again. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Joker’s voice oozed charm, reminding her of Jason. Maybe he wanted something from her too. Again, only one way to find out.

“Was that offer of a dinner date legitimate? I mean, is it still on the table?”

“Certainly. Are you available?”  
  
He had no idea.

“I’m free anytime. Um, except for school.”

She giggled nervously, and it was met with his new, restrained laugh. 

“How about tomorrow night? And, since you are being awfully quiet on your end of the phone, let’s say I pick you up on campus? Would that work?”

She nodded for a moment, her mouth dry, before she forced herself to speak. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Wonderful. I’ll see you then.”

The line clicked off, and Barbara stood in her own bedroom, shaking. What had she done? What in the whole wide world of sanity had she just done? She managed to maneuver herself onto her bed, wide-eyed. 

Was she crazy or not? She had a feeling she’d at least have a clue by the end of the next night.


	4. Chapter Four

Barbara only really had basic math the next day, and it was an early afternoon class—starting at just after lunch. Jason was in that class as well, and he was seated in about the same place—the very back. He made no effort to speak with her that day, and as far as Barbara was concerned, that was fine by her. She had things to do and places to be that day, as it was.

She needed a job, first off. Jim had bargained with her that if she wanted to work while in school and save for her own vehicle, he would match what she saved—essentially doubling her cash. She had wanted to get a start on that over the summer, but that had turned out differently. But, after math let out—another day of covering the syllabus—she made a beeline for the libraries on campus. There were three. If there was any place in this entire school she was qualified to work, it would be at one of them.

Barbara was a touch weighed down. Both Jim and Sarah had had to work today, so it made getting out of the house without questions easier. She had left them a note, saying that she was going out with a friend, that she would call, and that she would be home late. She didn’t want to run the risk of questions if the Joker rolled up at her house in a limo, which was why she would be eternally grateful that he had suggested picking her up on campus. She had texted him the location of the last library she intended to check out—no pun intended—and an approximate time she would be ready to go. As such, she had a garment bag with her, and her messenger was a little heavier, since her make-up bag was wedged inside. She had also worked a little clutch purse in as well, to carry in to whatever restaurant they ate at. 

She stopped in at the first, and the largest, of the libraries—the one that everyone knew about and the only one that had its entire building dedicated to being just a library. She went right up to the front desk and asked about job openings. She was quickly informed that there were none, but that if she was interested in working at any place at the university, to apply online. She thanked them, despite already knowing this. She left and made her way to the library known commonly as the “music library.” They had only one opening and told her the same thing about applying. Finally, she ended at the commonly called “talking library.” It was one used primarily by those going into education or nursing. It was one room, with the check-out desk at the front, behind which were two doors that presumably led to offices. Talking, at a whispering level, was encouraged. Barbara left her information with the librarian on duty there before stopping at one of the three computers they had for student use. Checking her watch, she realized that she had a good hour or so before Joker was set to pick her up for their evening out—which was perhaps the zaniest situation Barbara could have ever imagined herself in. She went to the aforementioned website and put in her information. In thirty minutes, she had it all submitted. The librarian smiled at her as she left, curving around from the door of the library—which led to the hallway that held a restroom, more offices, and a set of elevators. She ducked into the bathrooms and into the largest stall.

She made quick work of switching into her dress—which was a simple black pinafore dress which she dressed with a plum-colored blouse underneath, stockings that matched her blouse, and black wedge heels. She left the stall, pulled out her make-up, tucked some paper towel into the collar of her blouse, and went about applying a modest amount of cosmetics to her face. It took her another thirty minutes, including the few minutes she took to brush her hair and pull it up into a messy bun. Then, she shoved all her products away, putting her jeans and shirt on the hanger inside of her garment bag, and swapped some vital items into her small, black clutch purse. She exited the building and walked down a small set of concrete steps to the even smaller sidewalk in time to see a limousine pull up. The driver stepped out, and Barbara was pleased to see it was the same gorilla-shaped man as before, dressed the same in the solid black driver’s outfit, complete with cap.

Barbara smiled as she approached him, and he tipped his cap at her.

“The boss had some business and said that he’ll meet us at the restaurant. This way, please, ma’am.”

He moved to the back of the vehicle and opened the door for her. She smiled, despite feeling a twinging feeling at the back of her mind. What kind of business had kept the Joker? Was it business she wouldn’t want to know about or be involved in? She shook her head. This had been her idea, of sorts. She had thrown caution to the wind in order to know herself a little better. She nodded at the driver as she approached the open door.

“Thank you, Mr… Uh..”

He grinned at her. “Chauncy. Mr. Chauncy.”

She fought the laugh that threatened to surface. Of course the Joker’s driver had a name like Chauncy. 

“Chauncy. Thank you.”

She slid into the seat _he_ had occupied the day before as Mr. Chauncy shut the door after her. She tossed her items into the unoccupied seat across from her, hoping that was okay, as the felt the limo beginning to move. She sat back, crossing her legs at the ankles, and hoped against hope she hadn’t just become the fly heading into the spider’s parlor.

The limo left the campus, entering quickly into the main traffic flow of Gotham City. Barbara kept her eyes peeled out of the window, watching each passing building closely. Inwardly, she chastised herself. This wasn’t a kidnap attempt. She should really stop treating it as one. After several minutes, the limo stopped, and while there were several businesses along the side of the road easily viewed from her side of the limo, this drifting sounds of jazzy music came from the opposite side. It was on that side of the limo that the door opened, and Barbara tried to scoot down to that side with as much dignity as she could. She stepped out onto the sidewalk by talking Chauncy’s offered hand and blinked upward at the looming building before her. 

It was done in several different shades of blue, and blue neon lights announced the establishment as the Iceberg Lounge. Barbara’s eyes widened. It seemed she would be pushing her father’s disapproval even further tonight, if only he knew. Not only was she on a date with the Joker—was it a date?—but it was at the one club in town that everyone knew was owned by supposed former criminal, The Penguin. She was, quite possibly, in over her head.

“Madam?”

Barbara blinked and brought her gaze down a bit closer to earth. Joker, dressed again in his familiar suit, hat, and coat, stood before her, offering her his arm. She smiled at him, taking it gently. She turned her head over her shoulder, wondering if she should say something about the extra items with her, but Chauncy seemed unconcerned as he went back to the driver’s side and moved the limo out of the way of the line of vehicles waiting to drop their drivers off.

“So sorry I couldn’t meet you at the school, Babs,” he said as they approached the bouncer at the front door. “Had to sign my life away, ha. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

They reached the door, standing outside of the velvet ropes to Barbara’s left—which contained a whole line of people that stretched to nearly the end of the block. The bouncer—a large man about the size of Chauncy, but black and bald—eyed the Joker. Without a word being said, he nodded at them, and opened the door, granting their entrance. There was some murmuring from the people waiting in line, but no general notes of dissent. Barbara vaguely wondered if they were experiencing a case of being star-struck that the one and only Joker had just walked past them. She also wondered if they were wondering about her. Should she have hidden her face? Would that have insulted the Joker? Well, it was too late to answer those questions as they arrived at a hostess station.

A beautiful blonde woman dressed in a legless one-piece outfit and small bowler hat, smiled brightly at them. She grabbed two menus and led them farther into the club. Barbara was suddenly aware that she was still very much on the Joker’s arm, but she knew that she couldn’t let go now. It would look too awkward. But was she sending the wrong message? What _was_ the message she wanted to send anyway? The hostess led them up to the very center of the club, that had a large, cold pool in the middle with an actual iceberg with live seals and penguins—of course—on it. The table that sat right by the railing of this pool was small, clearly built for only two, circular with a white tablecloth and two black chairs. Joker pulled out Barbara’s chair and pushed it in once she was seated before taking his seat across from her. They took the menus, and Barbara took hers while gazing about the room.

The men and women here were all dressed to the nines in tuxes and cocktail dresses. Some of the women were even dressed in full formal as well. She fidgeted in her seat, knowing that she was drastically under-dressed. Her outfit was business casual at best, and she felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Never been here before?” Joker asked.

“To Penguin’s club? No,” she laughed.

“Not Daddy approved?”

“He’s pretty sure there’s a crime syndicate being run out of the back door, but he’s never been able to prove it.”

Instantly, she felt the wind leave her body. She shouldn’t have said that. Not at all. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out, and the Joker laughed that little set of restrained giggles she had heard before.

“Regretting your words? I’m no longer a criminal, remember, Babs? Thanks to…?”

He waggled his eyebrows at her. She blushed. “I’m not sure what I’m doing here.”

Joker arched a brow. “Oh? How so?” 

Barbara shook her head, flustered and uncertain exactly how to put her jumbled thoughts into words. She moved her menu off to the side, while still holding it upright—as if to create a privacy screen between her and the rest of the club. On her other side, the seals barked, and the penguins clacked happily. 

“I—” she began, speaking so softly that Joker even leaned in a bit to hear.

A loud cough from somewhere over her head caused her jump. Her gaze followed the noise to see that a tall, slim man dressed in a fine tuxedo was standing beside her. His black hair was slicked back, and his round nose was stuck up into the air. He held a pad of ticket paper in his left, gloved hand while holding a pen poised over the paper in the other.

“Welcome, sir and—” the waiter paused, glaring down at Barbara for a moment, before continuing, “_miss_, to The Iceberg Lounge. May I start you with a glass of one of our fine wines, hand-selected by our owner, Mr. Cobblepot?”

Joker’s grin stretched as he chuckled. “Ozzy always has great taste in this stuff. Bring me whatever’s on tap.”

The waiter’s stone-like snobbishness wavered, for only a moment, as Barbara was sure he was caught somewhere in between wanting to tell him how many ways what he had said was incorrect and remembering that it was the actual _Joker_ that was ordering from him. In the end, he graced the Clown Prince with a tight-lipped grin before turning to Barbara.

“And, for the miss?”

“Um,” Barbara stammered, and for the second time, she felt a blush creep up her face. “I-I’m not old enough.”

Joker gasped theatrically, blessedly drawing the waiter’s eye to him. He wagged a purple-gloved finger at the young man.

“How inappropriate! Offering such things to such an innocent lamb! The poor dear! I should call your manager!”

All color drained from the already pale-man’s face. He turned back to Barbara and rushed through a litany of apologies. She waved them off.

“It’s fine, thanks. I’ll have a water. And if we could have a few more minutes with the menu?” she asked, glancing over at Joker, who winked at her.

The waiter nodded and lost no time in scurrying away. Barbara couldn’t help but chuckle. Turning her attention back to the Joker, who was smiling at her—kindly, not his usual, resting smile. 

“So, what’s good here?” she said, nodding to the menu in her hands.

“The whole ‘Flavors of Asia’ section is nice. I recommend the teriyaki chicken bowl, honestly,” he answered.

Barbara found it on the menu, balking a little at the price. But, this was the Joker’s treat. After all, it wasn’t like she was ordering three lobster dinners. She smiled, folding the menu and laying it off to her left.

“Sounds good. I’ll give it a go.”

“I’ll have the same. I swear, they put crack in the sauce, it is so addictive,” he said, taking her menu and setting it in a pile with his. Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he added, “But best not say that to your father. He might take me literally.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. The Clown Prince grinned.

“Now that _is_ a lovely sound. Nice to see you relaxed a bit now that you’ve realized that I’m not trying to kill you.”

Barbara, feeling a touch of bravery, shrugged. “Well, the night’s young.”

Joker barked out a loud, singular “Ha!” before pressing a hand to his mouth. When he pulled it away, he was still chuckling. “Still young… that was good. You’re really funny, you know?”

The waiter returned a moment later with a bottle of wine that was probably older than Gotham itself—and thus “the good stuff” she supposed—and a glass of water with lemon for her. The waiter prattled on about the wine, using words that Barbara had yet to care to learn—being from a blue-collar family had meant drinking whatever was cheap and palatable. He left the bottle on the table and took their order, seemingly pleased with the ease of it. He thanked them and bustled off. Joker lifted his glass, took a sip of his wine (so darkly red that it would’ve looked like blood if it were any thicker), and nodded at her.

“So, I’m dying to know… How much of it was you?” he asked.

She blinked at him, about to ask him what he meant, when the reality of her situation came screaming back to her. Her speech, the closing statement of his trial. Barbara fidgeted in her seat.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I mean… I guess… it was _all_ me.”

She had nearly whispered those last words. She hadn’t dared admit them, even to herself, these past several months. But now, sitting across from the very man who owed his freedom to her impassioned, written word, it seemed only appropriate to continue the motif of honesty.

“Really? Because, in the car, you were saying that it was just a stupid assignment. I mean, I didn’t believe that then, and I don’t believe that now. Not from the young woman who wrote the words ‘_Has anyone stopped to ask why? Stopped to ask, Is he okay?’_ I’m just wondering… what’s changed?”

Barbara felt a flush of heat rush to her face, but she shook it away. He remembered her speech that well? Of course, he did. It made sense, when she thought about it. After all, it was the reason he was free. Barbara shrugged, just as the waiter appeared and put their food in front of them. He made sure everything was to their liking before hurrying away again. Barbara picked up her fork, toying a bit with a delicious looking piece of grilled chicken smothered in teriyaki sauce. 

“I’m not sure. Like you said, you’ve not tried to kill me. You’re feeding me a lovely dinner. You’ve been honest. So, I thought I ought to try being honest with myself. Do I understand the extent you went to? No. I could never hur—I could never do what you did, exactly. But can I understand that you had some kind of painful motivator? Can I understand _wanting_ to do those things? Yes. Yes, I can. So. I wrote those feelings down.”

She scooped up the chicken, along with a heap of rice, and shoved it into her mouth just o get herself to shut up. Joker eyed her, his own food untouched. After a long moment, he finally picked up his fork and began to eat. After a few bites, he finally looked up at her.

“What happened?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Babs. Was it your mother? Or was it more the situation preceding your stepmother?”

Barbara swallowed a too-big bite she had shoved in her mouth. She didn’t question how he knew about those things. Anything in law enforcement was high-profile in this city, and when all of that had happened, it had made the columns. Without meeting his gaze, she answered, “Bit of both, I guess. And some stupid teenage angst.”

Joker’s frozen grin stretched a touch, taking on a conspiratorial look to it. “Always with the teenage angst. What would the world do without it?” 

She laughed. They continued with their meal, moving the conversation along. He didn’t mention any more about her speech, and she was immensely grateful. Talking about it made her want to squirm. Instead, he quizzed her on movies, music, and books. They shared some similar interests in movies, but not completely. They had entirely different tastes in books and music. Before long, they had finished their meals, and Barbara had waved off his offers for dessert. 

“Dad will get worried if I’m out _too_ late,” she said.

“For worried, I should re: suspicious, yes? Very well. Far be it from me to besmirch the good name of a fair lady,” Joker laughed as he waved for the check.

He paid, and Barbara tried really hard not to look at what she was sure was more than she had ever paid for a single meal in her entire life. He was the picture of a gentleman as he escorted her back out front, where he had the valet alert the waiting Chauncy. The limo pulled up to the curb, and Chauncy exited the driver’s side to open her door. Barbara turned back to the Joker, who had escorted her all this way.

“I take it you’ll not be present for this ride?” she asked.

His grin was small, kind. “No, I’m afraid not. Got to get the other vehicle home. But… I hope that this evening was as fun for you as it was for me.”

“You know… it really was. I had a great time.”

And it was the truth, Barbara was shocked to discover. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had gone out where she wasn’t terribly worried about something. Although, she started this evening off worried about an ulterior motive. She was more relaxed than ever. 

“If I’m not being too forward… I was hoping that we could do this again sometime soon.”

Barbara fought the huge grin that threatened to break out over her face. She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.”

“Wonderful!” Joker exclaimed. “I will most certainly call. Good-bye, my dear Babs.”

Barbara knew that this was the point in most dates where there would be a little dance while both sides decided whether or not a kiss was going to happen. There was a twinge fear in her gut as she was unsure of whether she wanted that moment or not. It struck her, the reality of it all, that she had had that thought about _the Joker_. So, in a move that was probably awkwardly fast, she muttered a quick good-bye, whirled, and half-threw her body into the back seat. She was incredibly grateful that Chauncy took it upon himself to shut the door right after her. 

The partition was up, but she heard when Chauncy return to the driver’s seat and felt the limo pull away. She slumped against her seat, briefly glancing to her left to see that her various items were still with her. She couldn’t fight the smile on her face now as she stared dazedly up at the roof of the vehicle. Something inside her was different, though nothing but dinner had happened. She knew this as surely as she knew her own name. Nothing was ever going to be the same for her, ever again.

But she couldn’t, for the life of her, decide whether or not that was a good thing or not.


	5. Chapter Five

She woke up the next morning with butterflies in her stomach. This was a most unexpected reaction, considering the events of the night before. She managed to gather her clothes for the day and tiptoe into the bathroom. She could hear her father and Sarah on the other side of the house, getting ready themselves. She ducked into the little bathroom across the hall, shutting the door with the softest click she could manage. They would hear the shower, inevitably, but at least she would have a few minutes to mentally prepare.

They had both been asleep by the time she had gotten home from her date with the Joker. (It was still odd, to think of any time spent with the former Public Enemy Number One as a “date.”) It may have been Barbara’s overactive imagination, but she had thought she saw the curtain to her father’s bedroom move as she entered the house. It could have been, but she doubted it. Her father hadn’t made commissioner on accident. Probably the only reason he hadn’t interrogated her on her night would be Sarah refusing to let him leave the room.

Barbara finished with her shower, dried her hair, and put on a bit of make-up before finally dressing and escaping back to her bedroom. A glance at her clock told her that she still had a good hour or so before she had to be at school. A yawn stole over her as she stretched up on her tiptoes. She hadn’t realized she had set her alarm for so early, but she was practically ready to go, so there was no extra sleep to be had now. 

Her phone beeped, and she blinked at it. Her heart skipped a beat as her mind took a second to catch up and realized that it was because she knew who she hopped this message to be from. She snatched the phone and flipped the screen around to face her, her breath caught in her throat. 

The message wasn’t from the Joker, but was still good news, regardless. It was from a woman who introduced herself as Linda Macafee, asking if Barbara would have any free time available to interview for the library position today. Barbara smiled, informing Ms. Macafee that she had some time at the end of her classes today. Then, shoving the phone into her pants’ pocket and grabbing up her messenger bag, she finally took the plunge out of the safety of her bedroom. She went to the kitchen, almost instantly salivating over the delicious aromas of coffee, eggs, and bacon wafting in the air. Jim stood over the stove, the sleeves to his shirt rolled up, as he moved the eggs in the frying pan around. Barbara grinned. Her father was no gourmet chef, but he did breakfast the best. Even something as simple as eggs and bacon seemed like ambrosia when he made it. 

“Well, well,” Gordon said, his back to his daughter as Sarah—also dressed for work—set an empty plate down in front of Barbara at the tiny, four-setting dinette table. Barbara tossed her bag on the back of her chair, waiting for her father to continue. “Look who’s finally graced us with her presence. Good morning, your highness.”

Gordon’s tone was kind of unreadable, so Barbara couldn’t tell whether her father was angry or playing with her. But, as he dished out the eggs and bacon, he winked at his daughter. Inwardly, Barbara groaned. She had been right. Her dad had seen her come home late.

“A limo,” Sarah put in, setting down a pair of mugs and filling both with strong, black coffee. She turned, setting down some cream and sugar in front of Barbara, adding, “Whoever you went out with last night was laying it on thick. Limo on the first date.”

Barbara almost sighed with relief. So, they had no guesses on who the owner of said limo was. Good. The less her father knew about her “date” with the Joker—and the fact that she had agreed to have a second one—the better. She put a small, pained smile on her face.

“Saw that, did we?” she murmured, fixing her coffee and taking a small sip of the lava-hot liquid.

“Uh-huh,” Jim said, doling out the rest of the food to himself and Sarah as Sarah fixed him a cup of java as well. 

The commissioner set the frying pan in the sink, took a seat at the table, opposite his wife, and tossed his tie over his shoulder. They ate in silence for a moment, and for a blissful second, Barbara was able to delude herself into believing that that was that. Of course, that ended the moment Gordon asked, “So, who was your date even with?”

Barbara choked a little on her coffee. She cleared her throat, her brain reeling. She couldn’t tell her dad the truth. Not when the commissioner was still one hundred percent certain that the Joker was every bit the criminal he was before he was exonerated. So, she spouted the first name that came to mind—that also fit with a limo being what dropped her off.

“Jason. Um, it was with Jason Todd,” she said.

Sarah smiled brightly at her. “That boy you’ve had a crush on? The Wayne ward?”

Barbara would forever regret sharing that tidbit of info with her stepmother. But, for now, she put a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes on her face. 

“Yes. The very same. I’m not… really comfortable with the spotlight, especially since we are just starting out. So, they’ll probably be no mention of us in the papers. We worked really hard to avoid any paparazzi.”

That took care of that, as well. Just in case. Jim arched a brow at his daughter.

“Not _too_ hard, though, I hope,” he said.

Barbara had only a second to wonder exactly what her father meant by that before Sarah playfully slapped her husband’s arm, giving him a chastising glance. Barbara sighed. Jim grinned at her, reaching over and putting one of his hands on top of hers.

“I’m just teasing. Mostly. I know you’re a good kid, Barb.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Barbara muttered, feeling the proverbial knife dig in deeper.

Lies. Today’s breakfast was eggs, coffee, bacon, and lies. She suddenly felt like she had no appetite. She picked at her food while Jim and Sarah chatting about the day ahead. After a few minutes, Sarah turned to her stepdaughter.

“So, has he messaged you yet, this morning?” she asked.

The pit in Barbara’s stomach deepened. No, neither Jason, nor the Joker had messaged. But, it wasn’t even eight in the morning yet. Jim scoffed.

“It’s too early! Guy’s probably gonna play it cool. Earliest he’ll message will be tonight. But probably tomorrow. Gotta maintain some cool guy dignity,” Jim said.

Barbara couldn’t help but grin. He may think that she was waiting for a text from a different person, but the sentiment still applied. Joker might not even be out of bed yet. Or he might be waiting as to not interrupt her classes. Reality settled in on her for a moment, as she realized she was thinking, actively, about receiving a text from the former Clown Prince of Crime. When had she fallen down the rabbit hole?

She shoveled the rest of her food into her mouth, kissed her dad goodbye, waved the same to Sarah, and messaged for an Uber to meet her at the end of the block. She had to get out of that house, and if she arrived a bit early to her classes—of which she only had two that day—then all the better. No sooner was Barbara out the door, messenger around her shoulders, did her phone chime. She begged her heart to still as her more rational brain told her it was probably her Uber informing her that they were on the way. 

She was wrong, but the text was still not the Joker. It was Macafee, confirming her interview that afternoon. Barbara grinned. She’d take the good when she could get it. The _next_ text was her would-be Uber driver.

The day breezed by, given the ease of her classes. Each teacher lectured a bit, but only about fifteen or so minutes of their allotted time. Then, she made her way clear across the campus to the multi-level library. She stopped at the main desk and introduced herself.

A woman in her mid-forties, with her hair cut pixie-short with blonde highlights stood. She was a broad woman, and tall. Her make-up was expertly applied, and she had a pair of what looked to be reading glasses attached around her neck by one of those faux-pearl necklaces made for doing just that. Macafee waved Barbara around, and she took a seat in front of the desk that Macafee indicated as hers.

“Well, I must say, Miss Gordon, what you lack in work experience, you make up for in academic qualities. You noted that while you didn’t hold a paying job while in high school, you did volunteer, at a library no less. What kept you from working in high school, and what makes you want to work now?”

Macafee was pleasant, and her questions came off as innocent inquiries rather than the interrogative nature that they really were. Barbara sat a little straighter in her chair, smiling.

“Well, my dad said that so long as I was focusing on my grades and doing things that would look good on a college application—so I could get scholarships—then he would prefer me not to work. I was going to search out a job this past summer, but he asked me to wait. To spend my last ‘free’ summer with him. Now, I want to start getting out on my own. Learn what it is to be an adult, and the best way to do that would be to get a job, for start.”

Macafee’s smile betrayed nothing as she nodded. “And why a library?”

Barbara’s grin widened, just a touch. “I _love_ books. I mean, one wall in my bedroom at home is nothing but bookcases laden with books. I would have more, but Dad put his foot down. Something about all that paper being a fire hazard. And I just really love it when books are well kept, properly shelved. I loved volunteering at the library when I was in school, the organization of it all. And I loved being able to help people when it came to looking for books on papers or what have you. I felt like I was really contributing. There was absolutely nothing about that volunteer work that I disliked.”

Macafee hummed a little note, and Barbara may have been imagining it, but it sounded like a happy sound. The interview continued for a little bit longer, with a few more questions regarding both the job, Barbara’s school load, and transportation in regard to getting to work every day she worked. Barbara had an answer for each question without hesitation. By the end of it, Macafee was looking openly pleased. 

“Well, I think that does it. Honestly, I’ve had very few applicants this year. Far fewer than what I needed. So, Miss Gordon, let me congratulate you. You’ve got the job.”

She stuck a hand with manicured fake nails—painted a pale pink—over her desk as she stood. Barbara shot to her feet, taking the woman’s hand eagerly.

“I got the job? Thank you! I’m so happy. I’ll be the best worker, I swear.”

Macafee laughed. “I’ve no doubt. I’m going to get a few pieces of paperwork I’ll need you to fill out. Take them by the financial aid office—” She glanced at her watch, her lips pursing in a frown. “in the morning. They’ve already closed. But get them there first thing in the morning, and as soon as they get you in the system, I’ll call you to give you your schedule. Also, please leave me your class schedule and telephone number. This first year of you working here, I’ll fill out your schedule and choose when you work. Next year, you’ll get to do this for yourself.”

She handed Barbara a piece of paper and pen while she bustled off to get the aforementioned paperwork. Barbara filled out her class times, and took Macafee’s offer, when she returned, to sit at her desk to fill out the paperwork. When it was finished, Macafee reminded her to get the paperwork to financial aid in the morning, and then she’d call. Barbara thanked the woman one more time and left. 

Barbara was on cloud nine and hadn’t even thought about Joker and his lack of communication until she had to call for an Uber once more. That brought her crashing back down to Earth. All day, and not so much as a text. Barbara knew very well about the understood “three day” rule when it came to dating—that a guy didn’t call a girl until three days had passed—but she found herself driven crazy over his lack of contact. Had she read too much into things? Had his offer for a second date been merely a polite way to end the evening? Did he not have as much fun with her as she had had with him? She was going to lose her mind at this rate.

She met her Uber in the visitor parking lot, where there was a designated pick up/drop off spot. She was home in minutes, beating her father and stepmother home by at least an hour or an hour and a half. She made her way into the kitchen to see a note hung on the fridge. Apparently, it was going to be even later for the Gordons, since Jim was taking his wife out to eat that night. He noted for her not to worry, not to call Jason over (what kind of life did her father think she led?), and that he left her plenty of money for take-out in the junk drawer. Ah yes, the one drawer in the house that was practically a death trap. Barbara tossed the note in the trash, opened the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of water. 

She had moved her phone to her back pocket in an attempt to stop herself from obsessively checking it. She had to remove it as she plopped down on the couch to watch T.V., but she tossed it on the end table on the opposite end of the couch from which she sat. She flicked tirelessly through several channels—even catching a commercial for Joker’s upcoming book that made her insides twist in a funny way—before she finally grabbed her phone to order some Chinese. She put her phone back in her pocket when the food arrived, settling in to watch some stand-up comedian on the comedy channel—because she was apparently a glutton for punishment. After devouring way too much fried rice and sesame chicken, she found herself groaning, her damnably silent phone back in her hands.

Why hadn’t he called? When had she become _that_ girl? Her life would be perfectly fine if that one date had been the only date. It would. In fact, it would probably be a great deal less complicated. Besides, again, maybe he was just trying to follow the social construct when it came to dating. It would be the first time the Joker had followed the social construct for literally _anything_, but why not? He was a free man and trying to stay that way. It probably meant a bunch of changes for him.

Barbara tossed in the towel at 8:30 and went to her bedroom—after cleaning up after her take-out feast. She dressed in her most comfortable pair of pajamas, set her alarm for the next day, and hooked her stupid phone up to its charger. She shut off the lights and crawled into bed. 

Her head had no sooner touched the pillow when her phone sounded. She all but rocketed upright, grabbing for it. She held the screen against her chest, schooling herself. It might not be him. And that was okay. With a deep exhale, she pulled the phone back. And grinned.

_Thinking of you today. Can’t wait to see you again. Hope you had fun today. –J_

Barbara was grinning ear to ear. Another deep exhale and she replied.

_Happy to hear from you. Got a job today. Can’t wait to see you either. We should plan that. –B_

She settled down onto her bed, slowly moving her body back into a position more conducive to sleep, when her phone chimed again.

_Congrats, m’dear. Got a fun idea for our next date. Now, go to bed, sweetheart._

He didn’t sign it, but he certainly didn’t have to. He followed it with a wide-smiling emoji and a winking one. She sent him back a final “good night,” and set her phone, face down, on her nightstand. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.


	6. Chapter Six

English Comp had ended with them getting their first essay assignment, due next week. It was a standard, five-paragraph format essay, on the topic of one of the poems they covered in class that day. Barbara was barely out of her seat when her current math class ended when her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, her heartrate increasing. Since the night before, she had been texting back and forth with the Joker, and she found herself looking forward to his replies more and more.

But it wasn't Joker. Instead, it was Jason, with a simple, "Help me write gud? In Library."

She couldn't help but chuckle a little at that, also wondering if it had been a joke or a typo. Either way, it worked, and she checked the clock in the upper right-hand corner of her phone. She still had a couple of hours before her first—and thus, training—shift started at the very same library. She shoved her things into her bag—greatly reducing the number of items she had been carrying her first two days, now that she knew more about what each class required—and was out of the door. The math building was one of the older buildings on campus, and it was one of the few that was single floor. It was a crisscross of halls, littered with offices, classrooms, and computer labs. Shoes squeaked and heels clicked as students dressed in everything from causal suits to straight up pajamas filled the halls. Barbara was the more conservative student, in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, her messenger bag looped over her head and left shoulder. She exited the building, cutting up a narrow, almost-alley between the math building and the student union center, emerging into the campus's main quad. The library was directly across the quad from her, and she began the deliberate walk over just as her phone chimed another text. She lifted it up, blocking the screen from the glare of the sun—she would really have to get one of those glare-reducing screens—and saw that this text was not from Jason. No, this one was from him, the Joker.

She stepped underneath a nearby tree, using its shadow to make it easier to see what the former Clown Prince of Crime had written her.

The text read, "Favorite food? A guy needs to know these things." This was followed by a winking smiley face.

Barbara pursed her lips, fighting the smile trying to emerge there. After a moment, she replied, "Top three: most Chinese food, most Italian food—especially eggplant parm, yum!—and lastly, cheese. Just cheese."

She turned her phone to vibrate and shoved it into her pocket as she finished crossing to the library. She pulled open one of the double doors, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dimness on the inside. She was no sooner entering the small lobby area when she heard, "Pst! Barbara!"

She turned to find Jason—his hair the usual deliberate mess it always was, dressed in a pair of jeans with a shirt sporting the symbol of some athletic team—standing by a nearby potted plant. She arched a brow at him as she approached.

"Are you scared of libraries, Jason Todd?" she asked.

He smiled a little sheepishly. "No. Just… I tend to get lost in them easy. And not in a fun, romantic way. Like, I'll go in looking for a reference book about the second World War, and end up in an old newspaper archive, scared and alone."

Barbara rolled her eyes. "Well, stick close, and I'll make sure that doesn't happen. Do you have a laptop with you?"

He nodded, motioning to a thin piece of machinery hidden among the books in his hands. She motioned for him to follow as she came to a stop at the front desk. Ms. Macafee grinned at Barbara as she stepped up to serve them.

"Getting to work early? Hours so. Impressive."

Barbara laughed, shaking her head. "No, I need a study room. I'm helping him out," she said, jerking a thumb toward Jason.

He waved at the librarian behind the desk. "Hi. I'm Jason. I suck at English."

Macafee laughed. She turned a clipboard around and instructed Barbara to sign it while she retrieved a key. The key—while a normal sized key—was attached to a long, hard plastic keychain that had the study room's number written on it in black sharpie.

"So no one loses it," Macafee said by way of explanation. "See you tonight!"

Barbara returned the sentiment, drifting away with Jason. They caught the elevator up to the second floor, where most of the study rooms were located—there were one or two on the third floor, but none of the fourth. Theirs was across from the elevator, and once they were inside, Barbara, using her normal voice, instructed Jason to pull out his English book and set up his laptop.

He took a seat at the laminate wooden table that occupied the room—one of the few objects in the room, other than a dry erase board and a few markers of the same nature. "Aren't we supposed to whisper in the library?"

Barbara pointed to the door. "It's made to block most noise. I mean, if we scream, someone will probably hear it, but normal volume is fine. We won't disturb anyone."

"Ah. Cool," Jason said as he set up his tablet/laptop.

It was the kind where the keyboard—in order to be a physical thing, and not an app on a touchscreen—was purchased separately. His keyboard, which looked pristine, as if he had bought it only the day before and had yet to do more than open it, was a deep red, the letters and symbols on the keys a bright white. Barbara sat down across from him, sitting her phone down on the table—face down—and cracked open their textbook.

"Did you decide on a poem?" she asked.

"Uh…" he said, refusing to meet her eye.

Barbara fought down an eye-roll. She did let loose a heavy sigh, and Jason flashed her a grin. He shrugged.

"I really suck at English. Like, I know we're supposed to analyze a poem… but… analyze what? I mean, am I solving a case?"

"Well… maybe."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. On the table, beside the textbook, her phone vibrated, the screen's light escaping its down-turned position just a touch. Barbara's hands itched to pick it up, to see if it was him… to see what had had said to her now. She fought that back, refocusing on the person sitting directly in front of her.

"You could analyze the tone of the poem, to try and get to the root of the emotion the poet intended. Or you could analyze the imagery, to see if there is a deeper meaning beyond the words written. You can even go a step further and compare it to the time the poem was written, see if there is any societal commentary hidden in there."

"Huh," Jason said, opening his own copy of the textbook.

He seemed busy looking over the four poems they had covered—a sampling of each of the four periods of poetry they would be touching upon—and she took this as her chance. She picked up her phone, careful to do it as casually as possible and to hold it close to her, as she unlocked it to see the message.

_I knew you'd be cheesy_, he answered. It was followed by a laughing emoji. Barbara had to work hard to school her face into indifference. She touched the reply field, her thumbs hovering over the letters… trying her best to decide how to reply. Somehow, LOL didn't seem to cover it, given the recipient.

She settled with: _Haha. Very punny._

Phone back down on the table, Jason looked up.

"What about this one?" he said, pointing in his own copy. "Um… William Blake, 'Tyger, Tyger'? I kinda liked the sound of this one."

Barbara grinned. That was one of her favorites as well. And, also, not the one she had written for. She had gone for another favorite, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." While "Tyger" was a poem from the Romantic period, "Prufrock" was seen as the transition from Romantic to Modernism, mostly considered Modernism.

"That's a great one," she said. "You read it?"

"Uh, just now. But yeah."

"So, what did you get from it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well… what do you think it's really about?"

Jason's tongue snaked out, wetting his lips. Her phone vibrated again, and Barbara jumped a bit before grabbing it. She made no move to unlock the screen, instead staring patiently at Jason.

"I think it's about good and evil… or, maybe to be less dramatic, good and bad things."

Barbara nodded. She saw where he was getting that. But she needed him to see that as well.

"That's good. Elaborate on that."

"Elaborate? Are you sure you're just a student here, Babs?" he laughed.

Barbara felt her skin flush, and she prayed that it wasn't visible. Apparently, that particular version of her name was now hopelessly tied to the Joker's image in her mind, to his voice. She blinked, forcing it to the back of her thoughts.

"Just answer the question, Todd," she ordered.

He chuckled. "All right. All right. Um… well, he's comparing a lamb to a tiger, right? The lamb is all nice and gentle and innocent, while the tiger is all fierce and predatory. And then there's this line, um, 'did he who made the lamb, make thee?' Like, he's literally asking if it's possible that a world with both good and bad in it can exist. And it does, I mean. But, he's asking if it… I don't know…"

Barbara grinned at him. "No! You're doing good! You're on exactly the right track! So, run with that. Take all the little tidbits of imagery in the poem and ask the same question as the poet. Can the source of all that's good also be the source of all that's bad?"

Jason made a little "hmm" noise at that, typing away on his keyboard. Barbara finally flipped her phone around.

_Funny girl. Aren't you going to ask me what I like to eat?_

Barbara's heart skipped a beat as he followed this by what looked like some kind of drooling emoji and the winking one again. She wasn't one hundred percent sure that this was a naughty joke, given that she wasn't sure they were even there after one outing. But… it had the same effect as one.

"Barbara?" Jason asked.

Her eyes darted up to find her companion staring worriedly at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Oh," she said, sure now that the heat she was feeling in her cheeks had to be visible. "I'm fine."

The smile that Jason gave her this time was flat-out wicked. "Texting some someone special?"

"No!" she said, a touch too quickly.

Jason's grin widened. Inwardly, Barbara groaned to find that even _that_ reminded her of Joker. And Jason's grin looked nothing like the permanently Cheshire one of the Clown Prince's. She sighed, about to direct their attention back to Jason's paper, when his phone went off. He gave no hesitation to check it, his expression suddenly serious as he read whatever was on the screen. Shoving it deftly into his pocket as he scooped up his items, he smiled down at Barbara.

"Hate to read and run, but something just came up. Can I message you later about this? Also, how much for the session?"

"Um… whatever you think is fair. And sure."

"Thanks," he said, pulling a wad of green out of his pocket. He tossed it at her and was out the door and down the stairwell before she could even unfold it.

It was a hundred-dollar bill. Her eyes widened. She grabbed her phone to tell him that this was a gross over-payment for her work, followed by replying to the Joker's text finally. She still had a good hour before she had to go downstairs to report for her first night of work. So, she shut the study room's door and wrote, _Okay. What _do_ you like to eat?_

She idly took some notes on her own essay as she awaited the reply. It came quicker than she expected.

_Mostly what you listed. And I also like things that are sweet as candy._

She was pretty sure she was supposed to read into _that_ one. She bit lightly at her bottom lip, her thumbs once more hovering over the keyboard. She was searching her brain, trying her best to come up with a creative, sassy response that was more flirt than sting. But the ways her head kept twisting his written word was turning her brain to nothing more than mush. This all seemed a bit fast, and she felt more than a little heady. Finally, she knew exactly what she needed to send back.

_Are these hints for a second date?_

It was a little forward, the response. But it did away with the possibility of innuendo, while also making his intentions clear. He answered with, _So, you _do_ want that second date?_

_Yes._

He sent back only a smiley face. Barbara felt like she had been holding her breath. When her phone went off in her hand, the word "Dad" lighting up her screen, she let out the tiniest of screeches. As it turned out, the commissioner was simply checking that his daughter was in fact working tonight. She confirmed as such before receiving another text from Joker, which asked a similar question.

_What time are you free tonight?_

She told him that she got off work when the library closed, at ten. She took this opportunity to glance at the phone's time. Somehow, nearly forty minutes had passed. Joker messaged once again.

_Got a ride?_

She grinned, answering, _No_.

Her phone vibrated. _You do now._

Her stomach fluttered and she felt shaky, but in a good way. She sent a quick message with details on what side of campus she was on, as well as telling him that she was going to start her shift. She packed up her items, grabbed the key to the study room, and went back downstairs.

She took the elevator, both to kill a few more minutes and to give her heart a second to get back into proper rhythm. She had no logical explanation for why she was reacting this way to the Joker. They had gone on one date, and they hadn't even kissed at the end of it. And then, to top it all off, she had lied to her parents about it. Was this what every other teenager felt like, when she had been at home working on schoolwork and they had been out partying? Somehow, she was sure it wasn't _exactly_ this.

The elevator opened her up on the ground floor, and she stepped off it. She made her way to the front counter, where Macafee greeted her. She was instructed where she could store her items while she worked, and then her training formally began.

It wasn't hard work at all. It was basically the same work she had done while volunteering at her high school's library. The computer's library program was even the same. The only difference was the addition of a thing called "shelf reading." Basically, it was where they—the student workers—were assigned a section of the library where they would make sure all the books were in proper order on the shelves. It was a trade-off. One hour, one would read their shelf section while the other sat at the desk helping patrons. Then, next hour, they would swap. This continued until the closing hour, where everyone would do the closing list—which included some cleaning and basic housekeeping stuff. It was blissfully easy, and ten o'clock came about faster than Barbara had thought it would.

She explained to the librarian who had relieved Macafee—a tall, thin woman named Sheryl Lucas—that her ride would be picking her up at the drop off spot by the visitor and teacher parking. The other student workers all lived on campus, and Ms. Lucas just so happened to have parked over that way, so she walked with Barbara.

The car waiting at the drop-off was a standard, four-door sedan—like any family might look for in an affordable vehicle. It was dark, even given the tall security lights around the parking lot, and she couldn't quite see the driver.

"Is that your ride, Barbara?" Lucas asked.

Barbara pulled out her cell and typed a quick message to the Joker, informing him to honk once if that was him. She grinned at Lucas. "We'll find out."

A single honk sounded around the nearly deserted parking lot. Lucas visibly jumped, and Barbara laughed, muttering an apology.

"Yes, that's him. Good night. I had a wonderful first day!" she said, darting toward the vehicle.

After all, she really wasn't all that keen on her new employer knowing who she was being friendly with. She opened the passenger door and slid into the seat without a second thought. And then, on her third thought, she marveled at this. She dropped her messenger bag into the floor and turned to see the Joker, his frozen grin trained on her, his eyes showing that the smile on his face was more than the one he was stuck with.

"Good evening, my lady. Your chariot has been anxiously awaiting your arrival," he said as they pulled away from the campus.

Barbara giggled. "How kind of you. Though, seriously, thank you for picking me up tonight. I could have Ubered. You didn't have to be out so late."

"My, my. One would think you didn't watch the news, Babs. Don't you remember? Most of my foul doings were done at night. I'm rather nocturnal, you know."

Barbara's smile vanished for a moment, as she remembered the obsession that her father had mentioned the Joker having for Gotham's own dark protector, Batman. Joker arched a brow at her.

"Cat got your tongue?"

She blinked, shaking her head. "Oh. No. Just a little tired. I really hope you didn't intend our second date for tonight. I am a mess, and I'm about to fall asleep."

He let out that restrained giggle. "No, my dear, I didn't. Actually, my intent was for tomorrow night. If the lady is free?"

Barbara grinned. Her work hours tomorrow were just a few, in between her classes. "I am."

"Excellent. I could pick you up, or would you prefer to meet? I'd like to take you to one of my favorite spots."

They were pulling into her neighborhood. "You can pick me up here, if you'd like. Dad and Sarah will both be at work late tomorrow."

Occasionally, for department morale, the two of them would voluntarily work a double—and that was aside from the times where criminals like Riddler, Penguin, Poison Ivy, or even the Joker here beside her had made it a necessity. Tomorrow night was one of those double shift nights.

"Excellent. Seven work?" he asked as he pulled to a stop in front of her house.

"Absolutely. I'm all yours tomorrow," she answered.

She stopped mid-grab for the door handle, suddenly hearing her own words echo inside her head. Flirting was easier in text format. That way, the understanding was entirely what the person read into it. But, here, in person, she knew there was only one way Joker could interpret that sentence. For a single heartbeat, she refused to look at him. Then, she turned, seeing that his smile was different, more predatory.

"I like the sound of that," he purred. "Until then, my sweet."

She blushed, and she was sure it was showing from head to toe. "Y-yes. Good night."

He muttered the words back at her, driving off as soon as she reached her front door. Barbara took a second at the door to collect herself. She was playing with fire, here, and she knew it. But, if she was being honest with herself, she felt better and more… alive than she had in years. She shoved her key into the lock and entered her house, closing the door with a soft click behind her.

"All right," her dad's voice sounded, causing her to jump.

Her heart beat like a rabbit's. Had he seen who she was with? Had she been found out so soon? And, to her ever growing surprise, her first thought was, "No, not yet."

"Dad. What are you doing up? You've got to work like twenty hours tomorrow!"

"Look, I just wanna know what this Jason's intentions are with you."

Barbara kept her relieved sigh to herself. Jason… he still thought that had been Jason.

"He has no intentions. I'm tutoring him in English. That's it. I swear."

At least she had cleared herself of _that_ lie. Jim, however, looked less than convinced.

"Uh-huh. Just a tutor, huh? Then why'd he wait all the way until ten at night just to bring you home? Or did he make the trip back out? Hmm?"

Barbara fought down a grin. "He, uh… he came back out to get me."

She began to walk past her dad, only daring to smile once she was past. "Good night, Dad. Love you."

"Love you too, dear. Just… be careful. Good night."

Barbara was grinning like mad as she rounded the corner, heading toward her room. "Oh, and Dad? Tomorrow night… I'm going to be going out with some friends, okay?"

She was playing with fire all right. But she was dying to know how long she could do so before being burned.


	7. Chapter Seven

Barbara loved her new job. But she was so excited to get off a whole hour early that next day, especially considering that it was Friday, and that her date with the Joker was that night. Her dad and Sarah had both left notes reminding her that it would be late when they got home, so she was confident when she texted Joker to remind him that it was okay to pick her up at her house.

She Ubered home and almost knocked down the door as she let herself inside. She dashed to her bedroom, tossing her bag down on her vanity's chair, and threw open her closet. Joker had texted her a few hints about the place he was taking her, and Barbara had formulated, over the day, exactly what she was going to wear. She had gathered that wherever they were going was low profile, but still a place that one would normally take a date. There was a sense of informality but getting a little dressy for a date wouldn't be out of place either.

So her outfit, she had decided, would be the stereotypical "little black dress." It was a strapless cocktail dress that she had bought to wear underneath her graduation gown. It came down to just above the knee, where it flared, just a little. She hit the shower, dried and straightened her hair, leaving it down, and applied her make-up carefully. She chose a pair of wedge heeled, backless shoes, black of course, to match her dress. By the time she was double-checking her look in the mirror, her phone went off with a text from her date, announcing his presence outside. Barbara grabbed her purse—a small black thing with a single button clasp on a long silver chain—and headed out.

The limo was parked right at the end of her driveway, on the road. Chauncey stood by the back door, driver's side, patiently awaiting her arrival. She almost bounced toward him, grinning broadly. He returned the look.

"Evenin', Miss Gordon," he said with the slightest inclination of his head.

"Hello, Chauncey," she said.

He opened the door for her, and she slid easily inside, slipping her purse off her shoulder and into the seat beside of her. The door shut behind her, and Chauncey was soon driving them away. Across from her, Joker beamed at her—dressed, of course, in his usual purple suit.

"You look… amazing," he breathed.

Barbara blushed, noting the almost hungry look in the former criminal's eyes. "Thanks."

"I beg your forgiveness in not coming to the door. But, I thought, given the neighborhood…"

"No, totally the right call." Barbara found that she wasn't quite the bundle of nerves she had been the last time they had been together. It was true, she was still a touch nervous… but it was different, laced with excitement. "So, where are we doing?"

She leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs, carefully, knee over knee. Joker's ever-present grin widened a touch. He too leaned back, crossing his arms.

"My, my… I bet you try to peek at your Christmas presents, don't you, my dear?"

She gave a non-committal shrug, and he laughed that little restrained laugh. The Joker turned his head, craning his neck a little to look out of his tinted window.

"Not too much farther," he said. "You'll love this place. Promise. Also, it's not nearly as high profile as the Iceberg Lounge. I meant to apologize for that."

Barbara arched a brow. "Apologize for what?"

"Well, you clearly were unsure about being seen with _moi_, so I shouldn't have taken you to the only club in Gotham that has the same retinue of paparazzi parked out front day in and day out. I wasn't thinking things through. I simply wanted to show you how thankful I was for your well-crafted words."

She felt that familiar blush creep through her again. "It's okay. Really. I was… maybe I still am a little paranoid about… well, about my Dad finding out. I guess…"

She let the sentence trail off as she thought really hard about what it was, exactly, she was trying to say here. Joker eyed her, patient, but clearly waiting for the rest of that sentence. Finally, looking him clearly in eyes that were as green as his hair, she smiled.

"I don't know… about anything that's happened the last few days. All I know is that I'm having fun, and I like that. It feels like ages since I've had any real fun. Not since… well, not since. But is my Dad one of the last people I feel needs to know the circumstances I've been having fun in? Probably. But… also, I'm an adult." Barbara paused here, giving a laugh that could, she bet, in some circles be considered a little manic. "I guess, in summary, I've no idea how I feel or what I'm doing. But I like it."

Joker laughed, holding his hand up to his mouth as if to stop the laugh before it grew to the heights it had known before. He flashed her his most winning version of his frozen grin.

"Welcome to adulthood, sweetheart," he said.

Barbara grinned just as the limo pulled to a stop. Chauncey came around and opened Joker's door, and the former Clown Prince held a purple-gloved hand out for her to follow after. She accepted it, only the barest wisp of thought given to stories her father used to tell her about his deadly hand-buzzer. He gently pulled her to her feet outside of a little hole-in-the-wall club. The outside façade was made to look as if it were made of wood, instead of the more likely brick and mortar that it was, and a crooked neon sign announced it as The Laff Shack. There was a man as thick as Chauncey stationed at the door, his ebony skin almost blending in with the night descending upon them, save for the blue, red, and yellow glow of the sign above him. Joker tucked Barbara's hand into the crook of his arm, leading her forward. They paused at the club's stationed bouncer, who eyed Barbara a lot longer than he had eyed the Joker.

"She old 'nough?" he asked. "Alcohol on premises. Gotta be eighteen to enter, twenty-one to drink."

Barbara reached into her clutch and flashed the man her driver's license. He nodded, sweeping his arm to indicate that they could enter. Joker tipped his flat-top hat at him as they passed. The door led them to a little tightly made staircase which both Joker and she had to turn a touch sideways to get down. It was dimly lit, but not so dark that she couldn't see where she was going. They emerged in a wide-open space, lit very much the same way, save for a stage that was at the front, center of the room. Little circular tables filled the floor, along with a few larger tables and booths. All of which was lit only by the dim hanging bulbs and little candles on each table in red, stained glass holders. The stage itself, however, was brightly lit. Currently, it was also occupied. A young man held a microphone in his hand, ignoring the stand to his right, and paced back and forth while he spoke about fish—from what Barbara gathered for the few seconds she'd been in this room.

Joker gently tugged her to the left, and they found a cozy table near the back of the house, while the man on stage continued on with, what Barbara supposed was, a joke. He was barely getting anyone clearing their throat, let alone a laugh. Joker pulled Barbara's chair out for her, tucking her into the table before taking his own seat. He removed his hat, hanging it off one side of his chair, and shrugged out of his coat.

"A comedy club? I should have guessed this, but I'll be honest. I didn't," Barbara said, leaning forward so that she didn't have to raise her voice.

Joker put a hand on his chest, feigning surprise. "This is a comedy club? My word! I've always just come here for the chili cheese fries."

Barbara gave him a playful shove with her arm, and he laughed at her. He stuck a hand up in the air as a waitress made her way around. Barbara marveled at the woman's ability to see anyone out in this darkened area, but she came right over and took their order. It was standard bar food, and she and Joker ordered nearly all appetizers and a burger apiece. Both ordered water to drink. The waitress thanked them and bustled off, leaving Barbara to put her attention back on the stage. The man finished up his act as a host took over, bringing up another comic.

"Been coming here a while?" she asked.

"A bit. Some of these so-called comedians are the pits. But, occasionally, there's a funny one. Tonight is Open Mic Night, and usually that's pretty entertaining."

"Entertaining because a lot of good, wannabe comedians perform? Or good because a lot of bad wannabe comedians perform?"

Joker shook his hand in the air. "'Bout fifty-fifty."

Barbara giggled. The comic that had replaced the initial one was a touch funnier, but not by much. Joker and she passed the time in between the laughs—which was a decent amount of time—chatting. They basically picked up where their texts had left off, teasing and asking each other's favorites. Of course, there were questions that Barbara was itching to ask, like about his family—especially since he knew all about hers, given their publicity and past encounters—but she weighed it against the idea of if that was really a second date type of question. Maybe, on a typical date. But the daughter of the commissioner out with a former criminal who was infamous, if not famous, was anything but typical.

The waitress brought their food, which covered the table's entire top. Barbara took Joker's suggestion on appetizers, trying the fried pickles and onion blossom, while they watched yet another aspiring comic took to the stage. This one was much funnier and had her laughing until her sides hurt. Small talk had died down between the two of them as they ate, but it wasn't long before the food was mostly gone, and yet another comic came and went.

"So, I've got to know," Barbara said, wiping away tears of laughter, "have you ever performed?"

He arched a brow at her. "What do you mean?"

She tilted her head toward the stage. "Like, for a crowd. Have you ever told your jokes to a crowd?"

"As you'll recall, my dear, I saw all of Gotham as my stage, and many of you didn't get the joke."

Barbara felt instantly sobered. She began to mentally berate herself. Of course performing would be a sensitive subject. She blinked at him, frowning.

"I'm so sorry. God, I didn't mean—"

"I know, my dear. But, to actually answer your question, I have performed on a stage. Once, in a different life."

It took only a second for her to decide. She reached across the small space between them and rested her hand on his. "Did you not enjoy it?"

He forced his smile into a frown. "Let's just say… it didn't go as planned."

Barbara's lips parted, ready to reply, when Joker suddenly shushed her, pointing to the stage with a just as sudden wicked grin on his face. The host—a balding man in a cheap suit on the wrong end of forty and showing it—grabbed up the mic, holding a large note card in his other hand.

"We've got one more victim, uh, volunteer—" he waggled his eyebrows at the audience before continuing, "tonight. Ladies and germs, give it up for Miss Barbara Gordon!"

A loud, encouraging whistle sounded from right next to her, as she immediately felt like she was going to vomit. She whirled to find Joker whistling as loudly as possible, his gaze darting between her and the stage.

"I can't do this!" she whisper-screamed at him.

"Miss Gordon?" the host said. "Come on, now. Don't be shy."

Joker stopped whistling long enough to say, "Just be true. And funny. Knock 'em dead."

In a flash, he nudged her chair, making it feel as if it were tipping over, and on instinct, Barbara launched to her feet. The audience, seeing her stand, began its usual clapping, acknowledging her as the next comedian. A spotlight fell on her, and her alone, as the host began to coax her up to the stage. She felt like she was in middle school all over again, and she was vomiting off the front of the stage right on to her drama teacher's head. She forced her feet to move, one by one, until she was on stage, facing out to the crowd.

The applause and whistling died down, and she found herself suddenly thanking God that she had chosen a little black dress instead of anything potentially see-through. The spotlight on her was bright, blindingly so, and everyone save for a scattered few closest to the stage was blacked out from her vision. Tentatively, she worked the mic out of the mic stand.

"Hello," she said slowly, which was answered immediately by the audience, as one, saying, "Hi!"

She chuckled nervously. "Wow. Much friendlier than high school." This got a tittering of laughter, and she felt just a touch of her nerves calm… just a touch. "Forgive me, everyone. This was… is, a surprise that my date undoubtedly planned. I was previously unaware that second dates came with facing your public speaking fear. This was not something I overheard the other girls talking about in school."

Another smattering of laughter. She was beginning to genuinely feel a little more confident. She grinned at the crowd. "Reeealllllyyy reconsidering that third date now."

The laughs that followed this was much stronger. She shrugged.

"I'm just joking. Well, obviously, right? This is a comedy club. " Laughter following. "But, really, I have no idea what I'm doing up here. I was the Goth chick in high school. We're not exactly known as the funny group of kids. But my date, as the only prep for this literally the second before I walked up here, gave me the advice that I should just be true. And, seeing as this is a second date for me, I'll kill two birds with one stone. I'm going to tell my date a funny story from my past. You all just have to hear it too. How does that sound?"

A decent set of whoops of approval. Barbara smiled. "Good. Because you really didn't have too much of choice there, unless you just wanted to leave."

Another round of laughter. Her heartbeat was wild, but it wasn't necessarily feeling like a bad thing. She cleared her throat a bit, away from the mic of course, and plowed on ahead.

"A few years ago, when I was about fifteen, my mother and I went to the South, where her parents are from. We were visiting my grandmother and the rest of my extended family. Well, my grandmother was a, um… thrifty lady. My mom always used to say that she'd squeeze a dollar until Washington screamed ouch."

Some giggles. She nodded to her nearly invisible audience. "Right? So, my grandmother's favorite past time was going to yard sales. That's not a big thing here in Gotham, but I've seen a few so you do know what they're all about. People load out stuff they don't want anymore and try to make a buck off of it. We use Facebook for that now. So myself, my grandmother, my mother, and two of my younger cousins—about seven and nine years old between these two—decide to load up in my grandmother's car and go to yard sales. The day already starts off rough as the two cousins—a boy and a girl—are fighting because they know that only one of them is going to get a window seat. The other was going to me. Privilege of being the eldest in the group. The con to this is that I was also "the good kid." Know what happens in this situation when you're the good kid? You get the middle seat to appease the fighting. It sucks. I was folded in the middle tighter than most people fold their laundry.

"Well, we go to a ton of yard sales. Like, a ton. And my grandmother buys a ton of stuff. A ton. Including a large, blow-up kiddie pool which takes up all the room in the trunk. So all the smaller items are being shoved underneath our feet in the back seat. It's summer so it's hot and humid, and I'm sweating with two little whiny kids on either side of me and random knickknacks filling every other available space. Six yard sales, car full of stuff, and my grandmother's only managed to spend about twelve dollars."

A loud round of laughter. Barbara waited for it to die down before she continued. "Also, the youngest cousin—the girl—gets hungry somewhere along the way. We all learn quickly that she's not to be left hungry. I'm pretty sure she was going to gnaw on one of us while screaming at the survivors to provide her with more if we hadn't stopped at a gas station and bought her a bag of Funyuns. Not a small bag either. Full-sized bag of Funyuns, and to hell if this girl is sharing. But at least we've all been spared cannibalism.

"So, somewhere along yard sale seven or eight, we pull down this road that has signs up for construction. We pass a box in the middle of the road, sitting right on the yellow lines. My grandmother casually comments that she wonders what's in that box. I can feel my mother's eye roll from the back seat. See, my grandmother was one of like ten kids, born in the thirties. She's _that_ level of thrifty. My mother was easily embarrassed by this attribute of her mother. But, we get a little farther down the road and get stopped by the construction. My grandmother shortly decides that this particular yard sale isn't worth it and turns the car around. However, coming back upon the box, she gives in to curiosity. She instructs the boy cousin to 'see what's in that box.' My mother is slowly dying from mortification. We pull along side the box, and after checking for traffic, my cousin gets out and gets the box. He hops back into the car quickly and takes an equally quick peek.

"String. It's string… closer to rope, in the box, which he quickly puts in the floorboard by his feet, close to the door. My grandmother is delighted. Oh, she says, you finally have string for your kite. My mother is glaring out of her window."

A few chuckles. She knew that people were wondering where she was going in this story. She squinted her eyes in the dark, trying to pick out the Joker in the fray. But even his bright skin was invisible with the stage lights gleaming down at her. She put a bright smile on her face and glanced over at the host. He rolled his hands, indicating for her to go on.

"Barely three feet down the road, all of a sudden, there was this sound. It was quiet, but still noticeable. No one in the car said anything for a moment, just listening. It sounded like _Ssssshsssss_. A second later, my mother asked what that noise was. My grandmother, tentatively, said, 'It sounds like a… snake.'

"Pandemonium. My grandmother yanks the car to the side of the road, doors fly open. My grandmother—who is terrified of snakes—steps out, shaking out her skirts. My mother's door keeps making the locking and unlocking noises over and over. I somehow get out of the side of the car where my youngest cousin—the girl, remember—is seated. I whirl around and drag her out of the car, several feet away. You know, because snakes carry Uzis."

A rousing round of laughter. Barbara shrugged in an exaggerated way. "Also, this cousin? She did her part to save her bag of Funyuns and is still freaking eating them. My other cousin is _punching_ the box of string. Wailing on it. My mother—who is still in car—is rolling down her car window. After several panicked moments, my cousin grabs the box he's been pummeling, tosses it out into the road as hard as he can, and we all climb back into the car. Except for my mother, who never got out of the car. We drive a few feet before we all started laughing at how stupid we were."

She glanced sideways at the host, who was mouthing at her to "wrap it up." She grinned.

"I see that my time is almost up, so, just as a little aside for this story. I learned about a year later that the reason my mother never got out of the car was that, in her panic, she kept locking the car when she thought it was unlocked. Rolling down the window had been her fear-ruled brain's attempt at an escape. Apparently, in a case of emergency, my mother slipped into her alter ego of a NASCAR driver. Thank you!"

The applause was strong, and Barbara wondered if the way she was feeling as the host gently ushered her off stage—while asking for another round of applause for her—was comparable to being drunk. She was all the way back at the table where the Joker stood, clapping and whistling in approval, when the host announced the show was done for the night. Joker took her hand, tossed a wad of cash down on the table, and ushered her out of the nightclub before the lights could come up. Chauncey was already parked and waiting for them, and Barbara all but dove into the vehicle, landing very unladylike in her seat, with Joker entered the vehicle and closing the door behind them.

"Away, Chauncey! We must get this pumpkin home before midnight!" the Clown Prince announced.

Barbara pulled her phone out of her purse, seeing that no one had called for her, but also seeing that it was indeed about thirty minutes until midnight. She laughed, tossing the phone back into her purse, and threw her head back in the seat. She was seated right beside Joker, instead of across from him, and she was suddenly aware that he was still holding her hand. She made no move to take hers away.

"You gave my name up as a volunteer before we even arrived?" she asked him, still feeling a touch breathless.

"As soon as you agreed to the date. I do apologize for my deception, Babs. But… how do you feel?"

Barbara took a second to check in with herself. She was out of breath, like she had run a marathon. Her pulse thumped in her ears, and her heart felt like it was going to hammer right out of her chest.

And she felt _amazing_.

"I've never done anything like that before," she said. She turned in her seat to meet the Joker's eye. "I mean it. I've never taken a chance like that. Not in my entire life. And… and if I had been on a date with anyone else… I never would have."

"So I'm forgiven?"

He batted his eyes at her as the limo pulled up to the curb across from Barbara's house. She blinked, feeling like they must have traveled at warp speed to get back here.

"Forgiveness? You're asking for forgiveness when I should be thanking you. I've never… I've never felt like this before. This kind of fun? It's like… It's like…"

Their eyes met, and his frozen grin quirked up a little higher as they both said, in unison, "It's like a drug."

"Exactly," Joker said, sighing as if releasing a breath. "I knew you'd understand."

She blinked, aware of the feel of his gloved hand in hers. Her leg was touching his, and it suddenly felt like electricity and fire all mixed together was surging up from that connecting point.

"So… can I plan a third date?" he asked.

Barbara smiled, and she was more than a little surprised to see her body bowing slightly toward him. "Yes. I think so."

Joker leaned forward, putting only a couple of inches between his face and hers. Her face, she knew, must be beet red. Time seemed to stand still. Then, from behind her, the door opened.

"Your home, Miss," Chauncey announced.

Barbara thought, for a moment, that she saw the Joker scowl, but he wiped the look away. He scooted with her toward the open door as she stepped out into the street. He still held her hand. She stood there, on the open street, barely a neighbor with a light on—and only the porch light on at her own house.

"Joker…" she said.

Slowly, he stuck his head out of the limo. "Yes?"

Quick as a flash she ducked, planting a kiss right on his ruby lips. He reached out, grasping her hip in an effort to hold her close as that kiss was followed by another, and then that one by one more. Finally, her face flushed, she stepped back just a bit. She smiled shyly at him.

"See you on that third date," she said.

"Can't wait," he murmured.

She turned, glanced left and right, and crossed the road to her house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things here. First, there's a a How I Met Your Mother joke in here. Second, the art is by the wonderful TwistedSlinky, to whom this chapter is also dedicated. Thirdly, the story that Barbara tells is true, save for a few details. It happened to me, only it was a male younger cousin of mine, my grandmother, my mother (who was the in-law instead of the daughter of said grandmother), and my younger sister. The rest is all completely true.


	8. Chapter Eight

Saturday wasn't always a day of rest, Barbara knew. Such was the truth for her. She had opted to work just a handful of hours at the library over the weekend, since—save for the few who lived on campus—she lived the closest. It was only three hours in the morning, and she was free by lunch. It was fairly slow go, given the fact that it was early enough in the semester that no self-respecting college student without a paper to terrify them would be caught dead out of bed before nine on a Saturday. The few patrons they had were there simply to use the computer lab.

But she didn't mind. Her thoughts were still preoccupied with the way her previous night had ended. It was definitely not Barbara's first kiss, but it was also definitely the first kiss she had ever had from someone who knew what they were doing. A few times during her short three hours of work shift, when she began to zone out a bit, she found herself touching light fingertips to her lips, still able to feel his there. This was especially bad to happen while she was doing her hour of shelf reading in the middle of her shift. But, before long, it was noon, and she was free for the rest of the weekend.

She toyed with the idea of going home and lounging about, but she dismissed that idea as soon as she hit the center of the quad. She could smell something delicious from within the Student Union Building and made her way inside. Apparently, there was a buffet sort of place on the inside that changed its cuisine origin every Friday. Today, it was Italian. She ordered a small bowl of pasta and, still feeling as light as air and at peace with the universe, she thought to enjoy the weather outside. It was mild and cool, promising a crisp Fall once it fully arrived. She found a seat along a cement rise that held a decorative bit of trees and bushes.

Joker hadn't texted her since last night, but the memory of the three kisses they had shared, albeit in quick succession, had her feeling sure that everything was fine. He was a busy man, of course. She had even heard something about a radio interview in passing on one of the morning talk shows that Sarah liked to watch. He was probably doing that at the moment. He would call, she was sure.

She finished her little disposable bowl of pasta and tossed it into a nearby trash can. She sighed, breathing in the wonderful air around her. She knew that she had no reason to be on campus anymore today, but she was just so reluctant to be in a hurry. Today felt like a lazy day. So, she reached into her bag and withdrew one of the things she was hardly ever without: a book. Yes, it was one of the two novels mentioned on her English Comp syllabus that they would be doing specific, mid-term and final-like essays for, but she figured, why not? She was a good chapter and a half ahead from where she had started when she felt something collide with the cover—which was held up in front of her face.

She lowered the book slowly, one brow arched. She was more than a little surprised to see not one, but three other students—all young men probably in their early twenties—stalking toward her. She quickly marked her place and slipped the book in her bag. If there was one thing Jim Gordon had been sure to teach his young daughter, it was how to be aware of your surroundings. It wasn't enough to just notice people, one had to be able to get a basic read on their body language. The body language of these three screamed trouble. Barbara gripped the strap of her bag with both hands, the better to whip it off her arm in a swinging motion. It was quite laden with books and various other objects. And her house keys, with attached mace, was in her pants pocket.

"You've got some nerve, you know. Showing your face in public," the obvious leader of the three men—his hair sheered close enough to be considered shaved off and his nose large and bulbous in a way that suggested multiple breaks.

"I-I'm afraid you've got the wrong person," she said slowly.

"The hell we do, Barbara Gordon!" the one to Big Nose's left—with dyed black hair that fell in front of his face in a fashion that those back in high school would have called Emo—snapped.

"The commissioner's own daughter. Can you believe it?" the third one put in, his red hair shining and the freckles on his face suggesting a summer spent out in the sun.

She shook her head. "Look. I don't even know you three. So, why don't we call whatever hit my book an accident and move on, okay?"

She glanced down, seeing a half-empty twenty-ounce bottle at her feet. She look back up to see Big Nose scoff.

"Accident my ass. I'm sorry I just didn't smash it into your pretty face," he snarled.

Barbara's eyes widened. What the hell was happening here? She glanced past the men, seeing just one or two straggling students passing in the distance. They glanced over at her, but generally kept moving.

"How could you be with that monster? Do you have any idea what he's done to this city? To the people of this city?" Emo said.

"Your dad's the damn commissioner, surely you know. What, are you one of those girls who have to misbehave to get Daddy's attention?" Redhead asked.

"Don't you respect yourself? Or this city? Or, heh, is it that you just enjoy being the clown's little slut?" the leader asked.

Barbara's eyes widened. They knew? How? She had little time to wonder this as they all moved forward a single step.

"Hey!" called a voice over her left shoulder. "Back off!"

Barbara had never been so happy to see Jason Todd in her entire life. Comforted to know that he had her back, she kept her eyes on her would-be attackers.

"What the hell are you all talking about?"

"This!" Big Nose spat, tossing a rolled-up magazine—which he produced from behind his back—at her. It would have hit her in the face, but Jason stepped forward, snatching it out of midair.

Jason unfurled it, eyes briefly widening until he passed the magazine to Barbara. She glared down at the cover for a full second before gasping, her left hand flying to cover her mouth—which had formed into a wide O. It was one of Gotham's many, many gossip rags—the kind that liked to spread rumors and such about the famous, infamous, and rich. The cover story on this particular issue, which had apparently been rushed to print, was her and the Joker. It showed them entering—and leaving—the comedy club. And it even captured their nocturnal kiss in front of her very own _house_. She felt ill. She felt violated. The pictures were surrounded by all manner of headlines and questions, and it promised the "full scoop" on page twenty-six inside. Barbara flipped to said page, wanting to vomit when she saw a picture of herself on stage, and underneath that one, a picture that, despite being obviously taken in the dark, was very clearly the Joker. The subhead in between the two pictures read some sort of nonsense about turning her into a protégé. She closed the magazine, seeing the bright red words splattered across the cover, "Joker's Taken a Lover?" And they had even named her, on the picture that showed the two of them sharing their kiss. "Commissioner's Own Daughter Is Hot for Clown. Inside, Jim's Heartbreak."

Barbara's arms and legs felt weak and shaky. She had almost forgotten the presence of her bullies until the leader spoke up once more.

"Oooh, you look like you're gonna cry. Well, good. It's better than a little slut like you deserves. You know, you've gotta be a special kind of monster to want to get with _him_."

"Back off," Jason said, putting himself between a still distraught Barbara and Big Nose.

"Oh, you wanna suck his coc—"

Big Nose didn't finish that sentence. Jason swung a fast right hook and landed his fist right in the main attraction of the bully's face. Barbara, shocked out of her stupor, gasped.

"Jason!" she said.

"Leave. All three of you. Now," he growled.

The other two lost no time in grabbing their buddy—who was cradling his bloodied nose—and pulling him to his feet. Once they had scurried off, Jason turned to Barbara. He scratched the back of his head, grinning a bit sheepishly.

"Uh, so I know you don't have any classes today… but can I walk you to work?"

She shook her head. "I'm done with work."

"To your car?"

Barbara shoved the tabloid into her bag, hefting it over her shoulder. "I Ubered."

"Then I'll drive you home."

She opened her mouth, ready to protest, but Jason lifted his hands. "I insist. Please."

"I can take care of myself," she huffed.

"Yeah, I get you. But everyone needs backup now and again. So… let me take you home. I'll be your backup."

Barbara really did, if she was true with herself, feel a little unsafe waiting on an Uber. It felt like the whole world had seen her in the nude or something. This was _the_ feeling. This was the one she had been so afraid of feeling since she realized it was her words that had set the Joker free. But now, it was worse. She gave in, nodding.

They walked in silence to his car, which was parallel parked alongside the campus's main auditorium. Her eyes were trained on her feet as she clutched desperately to her messenger bag's strap like it was her only lifeline. A million and one thoughts swirled about her mind, starting with trying to count the number of people she thought might have seen it. Surely Joker had. Had that been the _real_ reason he hadn't called or texted? With him being declared innocent only a few months ago, there was no way of knowing what damage a story like this could do to him. They'd call him a cradle-robber, or worse. Barbara wouldn't blame him if he dropped her like a hot rock.

But, perhaps strangest of all, she really hoped he didn't.

And this was all without thinking about her father. She knew her dad and her stepmother didn't read stupid gossip rags like this one, but surely someone in the precinct did. It was going to get back to them, sooner rather than later. Maybe… maybe if she got home in time she could head the media off at the pass.

"I really don't want to stick my nose where it doesn't belong…" Jason said, jolting her out of her chaotic thoughts.

She blinked at him. "But you've got all kinds of questions?"

He shrugged, maybe with a hint of apology to the move. She sighed.

"I get it. You probably don't want to talk about it…"

"No," she said, waving it off. "It's fine. Ask away. Everyone else is going to anyhow. Might as well start practicing."

It was the truth. She would be lucky if there wasn't a cabal of reporters and photographers waiting outside of her house when she got there. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and she finally unclenched one of her hands from her bag to gently rest on her belly.

"I guess I should start with the obvious. Is he paying you?" Jason asked.

Barbara felt like she had been slapped. "What? No! _That's _the obvious?"

"So you're like, legit, in a relationship with him?"

She heaved a heavier sigh. "Do you just wanna hear the whole story? You know, if you swear not to go to the press with it? I don't need any _more_ trouble."

He held up two fingers straight in the air. "Scout's honor."

"Were you even a scout?"

"All right… how about on the honor of being Boy Billionaire Bruce Wayne's ward? I know how annoying those gossip rags are."

Barbara graced him with a brief smile. Then, sucking in a deep breath, she told him everything. _Everything_. She started with the closing statement situation to this very moment, including side notes about her own tumultuous emotions. By the end of it, they had reached Jason's car—nothing flashy; just your typical four-door sedan in black. Jason let out a low whistle. Barbara went around to stand by the passenger side door, staring at him from over the top of the vehicle.

"Wow. No wonder you don't want parts of that getting out. So this is real. He's actually… dating you? And you two haven't slept together?"

They got into the car and left the campus. Barbara crossed her arms over her chest. "Not that that's anybody's business, but no. We haven't slept together."

He nodded, and the rest of the drive was done in relative silence. It was nothing short of a miracle that when they pulled up in front of her house a few moments later that there was no one in sight. Granted, she hadn't seen the paparazzi the previous night either. She reached for the door handle, muttering a thanks to Jason, when he stopped her.

"If you need me, Babs… call me? Okay?"

She blinked at him, mildly surprised. Where had this Jason been in high school? He laughed mirthlessly at the expression on her face.

"I mean it," he said. "Day or night, if you need anything—help or just an ear to vent to—I'm here."

She thanked him again, mustering up a bright, if not brief, smile for him, before exiting the car. She all but ran up the drive to her house, trying the door and finding it unlocked. Her stomach did a summersault. The Gordons rarely, _rarely_, left the front door unlocked. She was expected. Sucking up a breath like it might be her last, she entered her house.

She was greeted instantly by both Jim and Sarah. Sarah was seated on the couch, facing the front door, and Jim was standing, arms crossed with a very familiar looking magazine in hand.

"Young lady," he said, his voice just on the edge of a growl, "we need to talk about this. _Now_. I want to know what the hell is going on."

Barbara let her messenger bag slide to the floor. Like a woman condemned, she moved to take a seat on the couch beside Sarah.


	9. Chapter Nine

Jim loomed over his daughter; his face contorted in barely restrained fury. He waved the tabloid in the air. He tossed it down to the small coffee table that separated him from Barbara and Sarah on the couch. The magazine landed with an audible _twap_, the picture of her and the Joker kissing as clear as day for all to see. Barbara stared at it, to avoid looking at either Sarah's or her father's faces. In fact, she hadn't yet looked directly at Sarah at all. She was sure of what she would see there, though. She could feel the fury rolling off of her dad enough to guess.

"What the hell is this, Barbara? _Tell me_ that's photoshopped! Please! I'm begging you, please, please, please tell me that's just some yellow rag's trick."

Barbara's tongue snaked out, wetting her dry and cracking lips. Without lifting her eyes, she shook her head. All sound drained from the room. It became deafening, the nothingness of sound. Her stomach was clenched, and she was pretty sure that only her sheer force of will was stopping her from puking on the carpet.

"It's not photoshopped," Gordon whispered, as if he was hearing about this for the first time, again.

She had probably dashed a hope he had held on to ever since laying eyes on the cover. Jim's arm swept down, grabbing up the magazine and shaking it at her.

"Is _this _who you've been seeing? Is _this_ 'Jason' who's dropped you off here?"

"Mostly. I mean… I _am_ tutoring Jason Todd, and he _did_ drop me off here tonight… but the other nights…"

Barbara dared a glance upward to watch as Jim's fist slowly tightened around the magazine, quickly crumpling it. His face was a shade of red she had never seen on her father, and she instantly began to worry about his heart. His eyes held flames as he aimed them right at her. He dropped the magazine on the floor and leaned the slightest bit forward.

"How long has this been going on?"

His voice was forced to be calm, and that frightened her more than the idea of his screaming at her. It wasn't often when Jim had had to scold or punish her. It was always such a foreign feeling when it happened.

"This week."

"Where has he taken you?"

"The Iceberg Lounge and a comedy club… that's what's in the pictures inside, me doing an amateur stand-up routine at the club. And he drove me home from work one night."

"That's it? What did you do while you were at these places? What did you talk about?"

Barbara's heart was rapidly beating, and she could feel a cold sweat forming on her brow. It was bad enough that her dad now knew about her dating the Joker… but he couldn't know about the closing statement being her own words. She'd take that knowledge to the grave with her. She was already regretting sharing it with Jason, but… she could handle Todd. That much she was certain of.

"Just stuff. He gave me a ride to school on the first day. Saw me waiting for cabs that wouldn't stop, and it was pouring. He offered me dinner. I accepted. And it just sort of happened like that."

"But what did you talk about? Did he share any details with you?"

Barbara's heart wasn't slowing, but now it wasn't so much fear that was controlling her. She met her father's eyes. "Are you… interrogating me for information on the Joker? So you can continue on your pointless crusade?"

"Mind yourself, Barbara. That man is a monster. You don't know _half_ of what he's done… what he's capable of."

"Oh, because you never shared any stories?"

Barbara rose to her feet slowly, staring directly at her dad. Jim leaned away, crossing his arms.

"Have you slept with him?"

"Jim!" Sarah said as Barbara shouted, "What?"

"It's a fair question," he said by way of explanation. "So… have you? Have you slept with one of the most dangerous men in our city?"

It felt like her bones were vibrating inside her skin. She was hurt. She was raging. She wanted to scream and stamp her feet on the floor. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to shatter every piece of glass in the damn house. But she forced herself into some semblance of calm. She mimicked her father's arms-crossed stance and responded, "How is that your business?"

"I am your father!" he roared.

"Well, you didn't consult me when you decided to take a mistress, did you? Why should I consult you when I decide, at nineteen, to have boyfriend?"

"He is not… and you have no idea what you're talking about!"

"I don't, do I?" Barbara yelled, all control—real or pretend—gone as words she had held deep inside for a long time came rolling off her tongue. "I don't know that you were out, screwing one of your cops, while Mom was home, getting sicker and sicker. Didn't know that you were getting hotel rooms with her while she was bedridden in the hospital. Honestly, _Dad_, I was surprised you bothered to show up when Mom actually died. I mean, it kind of felt like a first. No, instead, you were happier off between some other woman's legs than at home, caring for your wife or comforting your daughter. So don't even _begin_ to lecture me on whether or not I've slept with the Joker!"

"You're out of line! You have no idea, _no clue_ what was going on! I tried, Babs! I tried to keep it all from you. I gladly played the vil—"

"No, Jim," Sarah spoke up, "she's right."

Barbara jumped, having half forgotten she was sitting on the couch. Now, she stood, and to Barbara's great surprise, she made no move to join her husband on the other side of the coffee table. Instead, she turned to face her stepdaughter.

"I am sorry, Barbara, for how things happened between me and your father. I'm not sorry that they happened, understand, because I love him more than I've ever loved anyone. But I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I failed in that. But you're right. Not only on that, but that it _isn't_ your dad's business who you date… or who you sleep with."

"Bah," Jim said, whirling and storming out of the room.

A second later, a door slammed, and Sarah sighed. She motioned to the couch, and they both sat back down. Sarah folded her hands in her lap and let out another sigh.

"We're just… worried. I know you're an adult, but you never stop worrying over the ones you care about, Barbara. For all that you know of the Joker, there's still a little you don't. We just want you to go in with eyes wide open."

Barbara nodded. "I know. I understand. Believe me, I thought I was… well, I thought I was going crazy. But he's been nothing but a gentleman… and… I feel good when I'm with him. I feel… like myself. Like the self I am only when I'm alone."

The smile Sarah graced her with was a little strained, but Barbara could understand that as well. After all, she never thought she'd be saying such things about the Joker. Ever.

"Now, to be clear, I'm not asking this because I'm prying. I'm only asking for safety reasons, but… _have_ you slept with him?"

Barbara pursed her lips and shook her head. "That kiss, in the picture? That was our first one. That's as far as we've gone."

She didn't miss the sigh of relief from her stepmother, and she tensed, ready to defend herself. But, instead, Sarah reached over to the end table on her side of the couch and pulled out her planner.

"Okay. Then, we're going to set you up an appointment with a doctor for some birth control. And while birth control is very effective against pregnancy, nothing is one hundred percent, and it does not protect from STD. Make sure he uses a condom. You're an adult, as we've stated, so I expect you to act responsibly. But I will always help you make that responsible decision, okay?"

Barbara blinked, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. She had all but called Sarah a whore a second ago, with her sitting right by her on the couch, and now she was being so nice and kind. She didn't deserve this.

"Sarah, I really… I mean… I didn't mean what I said, earlier."

Sarah smiled down at the planner as she jotted down some notes. "Yes you did."

"No, I—"

She snapped the planner shut, looking back up at her. "It's okay. I've kind of guessed that that's how you felt. I just hope we can move forward now. I'd really like to get to know you. Like, _really_ know you."

Barbara wanted to cry, but she fought that urge. "Why are you so nice to me? I've been nothing but horrible to you… and those things I said…"

At this, Sarah frowned, a bit of a faraway look in her eye. "When I was your age, my parents… they weren't nice. Or understanding. I felt like I was… under lock and key. I did things I regret. Or, at least, I regret not putting more thought into. I made mistakes that could have been easily avoided, as well as suffered some hurts. I want to help you avoid those things. And I want you to feel safe, both when you're with us and when you're out with your new… boyfriend. Oh, God, are we really calling him your boyfriend?"

Barbara laughed. "Well, lover isn't exactly correct. Would you prefer paramour?"

Sarah shook her head, standing. "No. Please. Now… what does he think of all this?"

Barbara shrugged, standing as well. "I don't know. I haven't heard from him all day. I'm… I'm worried. Maybe it was all in my head?"

Sarah hugged her. "I doubt that, honey. I'm sure it's fine. Maybe he's trying to do some damage control. Give it until tomorrow afternoon, then text him if you haven't heard yet."

"Thanks. Seriously. For everything," Barbara said.

"No problem. Now, I'm going to bed. Enjoy your day off tomorrow, Barbara, and get some rest yourself."

She nodded, walking past Sarah toward her room. She paused just outside her door, where Jim, looking much calmer, stood waiting for her. Barbara had not even noticed him walk by. He stepped forward and wrapped his daughter up in a hug.

"Sarah says it all better than me. I love you, kid. I just can't stand that thought that you might get hurt," he muttered into her shoulder.

Barbara hugged him back as tightly as she could. "I know. I promise, Dad, I'll be careful. I love you."

"Love you too."

They parted ways, and Barbara buried herself in her bed. She only bothered to take off her shoes as an afterthought.


	10. Chapter Ten

It was a text from the Joker that woke her the next morning. It asked if she was free and, if she was, could she meet with him at his penthouse atop Ebovory Towers. She texted back that she was and would, immediately getting up. She sat down for breakfast with her father and Sarah, both of whom were off today.

"So… have any plans? We never did get to go back to school shopping," Sarah said while she sipped a cup of coffee.

"Actually… I do, sort of, have plans. At least this morning. Besides, you don't have to take me back to school shopping. I'm in college now. With a job."

"Please, taking you shopping is fun, and it's the only time I have time to shop for myself. What about this afternoon?"

Barbara smiled, glad for this normality. "Sure. I'll text you when I'm on the way home."

"And what _are_ your plans this morning?" Jim asked from behind his newspaper—one of the few men in America left that still read an actual paper newspaper.

She pushed around a pile of scrambled egg on her plate, looking down at it with such a hard gaze she might burn it. She answered her father without lifting her gaze.

"Joker texted me this morning. He asked if we could meet."

The paper folded down to reveal Jim's less-than-approving face. "Meet him where?"

This time, she met his stare. "His penthouse."

Jim sighed. "Barbara…"

"Jim," Sarah said warningly.

"It's okay, Dad. I mean… I'm not going to… do anything. If that's what you're worried about. We're just going to talk over this tabloid, I'm sure."

"Well, _now_ it's definitely something I'm worried about. But it's just one of many. What if he tries to hurt you? He's a monst—"

Barbara could feel her anger rising, and evidently it showed on her face. Her dad cleared his throat and shook his head.

"Look," he tried again, "all I'm saying is that there are several things… not kosher about this to me. And men are… they are persuasive, Barb. What if he does talk you into… _that_?"

"No guy has yet," she muttered.

Jim choked on air, and Sarah laughed. After a moment, once Sarah had collected herself, she sighed.

"We know where she'll be, Jim. And Barbara is a smart woman. She knows how to make the right decision, _whatever_ that may be."

Barbara smiled her thanks to her stepmother. The rest of breakfast was a relatively quiet affair, with Barbara finishing first so that she could go grab a shower and get dressed. She reentered her room to find a lump in her bed—which she had made just before going to eat with her family. She pulled back the comforter to find a box of condoms with a sticky note attached that had "ssh, don't tell your dad," written on it, followed by a heart and a S. Barbara thought she might scream. She felt so mortified… but, after a few calming breaths, she remembered. She wasn't a high schooler anymore. She was an adult, nineteen now, and this was perfectly fine. Her phone sounded, and she let out a little squeal of surprise, before she realized it was just a text.

_Chauncey is on the way to get you, m'dear. –J_

Barbara texted back an "okay," and finished getting dressed. She went simple—a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a large hoodie. It was a little bit chilly this morning, but honestly not enough to warrant such a large hoodie… it was really about being able to hide her face if necessary. Fifteen minutes later, her phone sounded again, this time from a number she didn't recognize. However, the message cleared up the mystery.

_Waiting outside for you, Miss.—C_

Barbara gave Sarah a hug—assuring her she had packed some of her little "gift" in her purse—and made sure to stop and give her dad a kiss. He grumbled, but still hugged her extra tight. Then she was gone, jogging down the drive and all but diving into the waiting backseat of the Joker's limo. Chauncey was all smiles as he greeted her, and then they were pulling away. Traffic was dense, but it still took only twenty minutes to reach the front doors of Ebovory Towers. Chauncey opened her door, and she was more than shocked to find that there wasn't one single paparazzi in sight.

"It's what these residents pay for," Chauncey said in answer to her unasked question. "When you get to the doorman, tell him your name. You're expected."

"Thanks, Chauncey," she said, taking his hand as he helped her out of the vehicle.

She walked quickly to the front, dappled glass doors of the mind-mindbogglingly tall building. It was an off-white in color, but in a way that was deliberate rather than by the ravages of time. Standing outside, in a red suit with a boxy hat, trimmed in black with brass buttons was a doorman. He arched a brow at her as she approached him.

"I'm, uh, Barbara Gordon?" she said, hating immediately that it sounded like she didn't even know her own name.

The doorman nodded, opening the door for her. "Go to the elevator, press the button for the very top floor, and then knock on the door. Mr. Joker is expecting you, Miss Gordon."

He ushered her in very quickly, and finding the elevator was easy—it was directly across the lobby from the front door. She turned, about to question which door on the top floor she was supposed to knock on, when she saw that he was already back at his post behind a closed door. She sighed, trusting she could figure it out. She entered the opening elevator, head down to avoid the stare of the couple who stepped off it and jabbed a thumb into the button for the topmost floor. She rose up with no other stops, and a soft _ding_ sounded to announce the arrival at her floor. She stepped out and realized why a door hadn't been indicated. There was only one door on this very short hall. She crossed the space in just a few steps, hesitating only a moment before knocking on the door.

"Come in," came the Joker's familiar voice.

Barbara's brow furrowed as she tried the knob and found the door unlocked. Keeping the doors locked was the number one safety measure that her father had ever taught her about being home alone. But, then again… who was going to be stupid enough to rob the Joker? She shook her head, entering the penthouse.

She immediately stopped. It was… beautiful. She had no idea what she had expected—lots of purple and green, perhaps, with a toy or playing card motif, as was his way with his hideouts—but it hadn't been what was laid out before her. The whole open floor plan was done in lush whites, warm chocolates, and coppers. To her left was a bar, solid black with a copper colored countertop, with darkly stained shelves covering the mirrored wall. Each shelf was more like a squared cubby hole for a bottle of liquor—and it was full. Beyond that was a dining area and a doorway that led to rooms unseen. There was a piano seated up near the glass of the balcony—which took up the entire outward facing wall of the penthouse, and the living room was sunken in a cozy looking pit of white, fuzzy warmth. To her right was a sliding door, again done in dark stains, that was pulled closed. Joker, fully dressed for the day in his usual purple suit, spats, and jacket, stood up from within the sunken living room.

"Babs! Please, my dear, won't you join me?" he said, gesturing to a plush-looking white sofa he had previously occupied.

She felt out of place in her baggy clothing, but she nodded and made her way to the sofa.

"Um, I'm gonna take this off, if that's okay?" she said, indicating her hoodie.

Joker's grin was a bit on the sneaky side as he answered, "But of course, dearest. Dare I offer you a drink? I know it's not exactly legal…"

"I've snuck exactly three drinks out of my dad's whiskey when my Mom was sick, and he was out with Sarah. I can handle a single glass of something. Plus, I was allowed a glass of wine at weddings."

She rolled her eyes at herself as she removed her hoodie—keeping the move hidden. She had sounded like a child. But Joker laughed.

"Ah, a wild child, were we?"

She chuckled a bit mirthlessly. "Oh, well, you know. Best way to beat the system is to do well in it. Explains all my high grades away."

Joker returned with a stemmed glass of white wine and offered it to her. "A rebel. Are you going to be a bad influence on me, Miss Gordon?"

That one got a more genuine laugh. "Yeah, you better watch out."

He gestured, and they both sat down on the sofa. Nervously—and completely aware that it was basically still breakfast—she took a tiny sip of the wine. It was sweet, but not cloyingly so, and it burned, but not horribly. Overall, it was definitely something she wouldn't have a problem drinking when offered.

"A moscato," Joker said, pointing to her glass.

Barbara nodded, understanding that that was the type of wine, but nothing else. The moment lapsed into silence. She took another sip, and Joker followed suit with his own glass. Finally, he sat his on the coffee table in front of them—circular, in the dead center of the living room—and Barbara mimicked the move. His gloved hand moved, as if about to close the distance between them, but stopped.

"Oh, Babs, I owe you an apology."

She arched a brow. "For what?"

"Why, that tawdry tabloid! I hope you didn't get into too much trouble with your dad over that picture."

Barbara laughed. "Well, he was pretty pissed. But, surprisingly, Sarah came to the rescue. He was just being a dad though. It doesn't help that he does have the entire Gotham police force as a threat. He's just a worrier, though. He's just scared that you're going to—"

She froze. Did she really want to admit that to someone she was beginning to build a romantic relationship with? That her Dad was scared that he was going to hurt her? But Joker nodded.

"He's scared I'm going to hurt you… or worse."

"Yeah…"

He took a deep breath, shaking his head. He stood, grabbing up the glass of wine and finishing it off in one big gulp.

"It was a risk. I knew that that was the risk," he said, putting his back to her.

"What? What are you talking about?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Dating you. I knew that your father's hatred of me would be a risk. I mean, it is warranted. But, alas…"

Barbara reached out and grabbed her glass, just to have something to still her shaky hands. She swirled the wine in it, staring determinedly down at it.

"So… you do want… you do want to date me?"

He whirled, eyes wide. In a moment, he was seated with her, his hands on hers.

"Why ever would I not?"

"I can think of a bunch of reasons. I'm practically a kid—"

"You're nineteen."

"My father is obsessed with proving you're still… well… you know."

"Loonier than a loon?"

"Yeah."

"So what?"

"I'm boring."

"Now, _that_ I simply won't tolerate," Joker said, grabbing the wine from her hand and setting it aside.

"What?"

"My dear, the young woman who wrote the words that freed me, who stood upon that stage and told that hilarious story, the woman who was brave enough to kiss a former madman… well, she is the _least_ boring person I have ever met!"

Barbara blushed. "I… I just—"

"Babs, you _get_ me. On levels that I've never had something get me on before. You proved that in your statement. I just wish…"

Her eyes narrowed, and just like that, her insecurity was back. "What? What is it?"

"I just wish you would stop being so… subdued. You are vibrant. I saw you shine like the very sun on that stage, and I see it every time I make you laugh. You, my dear, are the Goddess of Grins, and I wish to be your humble servant… But you keep extinguishing your own fire. I wish you felt free enough to be who you really are."

She would not cry. She repeated that mantra over and over in her head. Never, ever, in her entire life, had anyone said anything so… amazing to her. So sweet, so caring… She offered him her widest smile.

"That's my girl," he said, caressing her cheek. "Besides… with you it's… easy. You don't expect… you don't expect the grandeur I would deliver as a criminal. I can be me. Or, at least, the me I really am, and not the me that the papers have made me out to be."

She did, in fact, understand that. She had shut herself off in high school when her mother got sick, and her father had the affair. And when that story blew wide open, all sorts of crazed stories got spread around about her and her home life. With Joker, she really could just be… her. She leaned forward, locking lips with the former Clown Prince. He made a little "hm" of surprise, cradling her as he fell back against the arm of the sofa. She shifted forward, straddling his lap as she made sure their lips were not disconnected for more than a few seconds at a time.

Joker threaded his fingers into her hair with his right hand, his left hand pressing her close to him. They moaned into one another, and Barbara could feel a heat rising in her that she had only read about before.

"Barbara," Joker moaned.

"I-I," she stammered.

Her heart was beating far too fast, and it felt like she was going pass out. She liked this. She liked this a lot. But her stepmother's words about protection rang in her ears, and she could practically feel the condoms she had slipped into her purse—because she knew that Sarah would check. She ended the make-out session, slipping off the Joker's lap.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be," Joker grinned.

She chuckled. "No, I mean—"

"I know, m'dear. At your pace, sweetheart."

She nodded, the smile coming unbidden. "Thanks. Really. I want—"

He held up a hand. "Say no more. In fact… why don't we talk more about this… what you want, at our next date?"

"I'd like that."

"Unfortunately, I do have an appointment happening in—oh, about twenty minutes."

"What would you have done if I hadn't stopped?" Barbara asked before thinking.

Joker let out one of his subdued laughs. "I'd have canceled the damn appointment. But… as it is… what about next Friday? For our date? I'll pick you up from home?"

"Yeah. I look forward to it. You'll text me?"

He grinned. "Every day."

Barbara stood. "Okay. Well, then, we're official now, aren't we?"

"Absolutely."

"Then that tabloid that kiss my ass," she said as she leaned in, kissing Joker one more time.

"Oh, I think I like this uninhibited Barbara… just as I knew I would," Joker said.

"I've got to go. I told Sarah we could go shopping this afternoon. Um… text you later?"

He grasped one of her hands, kissing the back of it. "Of course. I'll call Chauncey. He'll be ready to take you home by the time you get downstairs. Farewell, my dearest."

He stood, walking her to the door. She kissed him once more before whispering, "Bye." She was on the elevator when her phone made a noise to announce that she got a text message. She smiled, fully expecting to see it was him. Instead, it was Jason, asking for a tutoring session. She had to admit she was a little disappointed, but she replied the times she was free.

Of course, the truth was, she felt she was freer than she ever had been in her life.


	11. Chapter Eleven

A couple of weeks passed, and the world didn't end just because she was dating Gotham's former Public Enemy Number One. The tabloids were having an absolute field day, though, gossiping about anything and everything they could dream up. They seemed wise enough not to try her at her house, or at the Joker's penthouse, but every date they went on, they were there. They never tried to approach the couple, content to just surmise the story behind every picture they took. Barbara was particularly pissed at one they had taken while she was slouching over in her seat, making her stomach a bit more pronounced than usual. That one was headlined "Baby on the Way?" and nearly caused her dad to have a heart attack. She assured him that, so long as sex ed and everyone had been correct that she couldn't get pregnant from just kissing, she was fine.

But the tabloids weren't the only ones happy with Joker and Barbara's official status. Joker's publicity agents were tickled pink. Apparently, as Joker had explained it to her one night, they were still having trouble reducing the "fear factor" of his image. But, showing him dating the daughter of the police commissioner would help. Sure, they would get a few upturned noses at the age difference, but so long as he was respectful with her in public, and they did no more than a few kisses for the paparazzi—the more chaste the better—then that would be okay. So, some of their dates were a little more scheduled than a normal couple's.

Meanwhile, college was nothing like high school in the best possible ways. Where this sort of thing, her dating the Joker, would have blown up her old school, most people here at Gotham University were largely indifferent so long as she did what she had always planned to do—go to class, do her work. Most people. There were a few that were still stuck in that high-school, mean girl mentality. This caused a few whispered moments of nastiness behind Barbara's back just as she was passing by. "Clown Whore," was a favorite among most of these people. There was also a lot of poorly put together euphemisms for her having sex with the Joker… riding the white pogo stick was thus far Barbara's favorite, giving her a good laugh. Joker had found that one funny too. There were also the few girls who were dying to know what it was like… the fame, the infamy, and if he was any good in bed. It was mind boggling how obsessed people were about whether or not the Joker was getting laid by a red-haired college student that just so happened to be the daughter of one of his former "enemies."

Even Jim and Sarah were a touch different around her. Not a lot. Not like most people. But a little. Jim was almost adamantly pretending that Barbara wasn't dating anybody—save for when stupid headlines like that maybe-baby one popped up. Sarah didn't ask for gossip, but she didn't quite ignore the fact either. Hers was always a message of safety and smart thinking. Barbara appreciated the care, but it was getting a little monotonous.

Only Jason treated her the same as always. She had successfully gotten him through the first two essays they had had in Comp I and was already texting him ideas for the third and their upcoming midterm. He teased her about her dedication to his getting a good grade. She took it in stride. It was the nicest thing she'd been teased about in several weeks. Barbara found it odd that she would count Jason as her best friend now. She thought back to that crush-addled high school proto-goth Barbara and laughed. To think, telling the story of her high school self might not end up being the strangest story of her life.

So, it was leaving one of her tutoring sessions with Jason that Barbara stopped by her house, getting dressed for a date with the Joker. She dressed in a black tube dress, accented by her jewelry—a lovely silver chain the Joker had given her on their last date, a pair of pearl earrings that had belonged to her mother, and a silver, two finger double ring set with small, smoky black quartz—rather than any other accessory. She straightened her hair and did her make-up, finishing just in time to get the arrival text from Chauncey. She kissed her dad and Sarah good-bye, and was out the door and in the limo in moments.

Chauncey shut the door behind her as she slid in next to the Joker, who was ever dressed in his signature purple. He had his hat, coat, and cane with him, but he stretched an arm up over the back of the seat so Barbara could nuzzle in next to him.

"Can I confess something?" she asked as they began to pull away from her house.

"Of course, my dear. I want no secrets between us."

"I hate going to these night clubs. I mean, I liked the comedy club… but the dance ones? I just… I don't care for them."

"Oh, pooh, I know. I hate them too. But you heard my publicist. Just a couple more of these public dates should have me set in a more positive light in the court of public opinion, and then we can do whatever you'd like."

She leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his ruby lips, lingering just a hair's breadth from them when she broke it. She was learning fast how to keep a guy on the edge of his seat, and the smile the Joker had on was almost feral.

"Good. I can think of a lot more fun things I'd like to be doing," she whispered.

In a swift move, Joker had her by the waist, laying back in the limo's seat, holding her gently in place as he loomed over her, that teasing, heated grin still firmly in place.

"Do tell, sweetheart."

Barbara smiled up at him, and he lifted a hand, tracing her bottom lip.

"I love when you smile at me. Nothing like a beautiful smile," he whispered.

"You make me smile all the time," she answered, her voice just as hushed.

He leaned in, crushing her with his kiss, his hands roving downward toward the hem of her dress. Barbara didn't fight him, bucking up toward his touch. She ached for him, her body telling her to want and do things that she had never experienced before and thus had no idea how her body knew them.

A soft rapping noise on the window by Barbara's head drew the couple back to reality. Joker sighed, shaking his head. He held his hat in place as he righted himself before offering his hand to Barbara, who fussed with her hair and dress once she was upright again.

"The show must go on," he groaned.

"A shame. I liked the previews," she quipped, and he let out a single bark of laughter.

It was a whirlwind of activity from the moment they stepped out of the limo. Cameras flashed, and questions were shouted at them as they were ushered by the bouncer into the club—whose music's bass could be felt even in the sidewalk outside its doors. It was deafeningly loud inside, but Joker still had no trouble leading them to a set of VIP couches, planting their proverbial flags there. Barbara found that a relief. The publicist had insisted they dance when they go to these stupid things, but she was not confident in her moves, and Joker found the type of dancing done in these clubs to be distasteful. He had told his publicist that he was more of a Waltz or Tango man. Barbara wouldn't have minded something like that. But this rhythmic bumping and grinding with no real plan to it, just to keep the general beat of the music and look vaguely like one was having a seizure, was not her forte.

Joker tucked her in close, keeping her locked to his side with only his arm. They were flocked by various patrons of the VIP section almost immediately, with a couple of the men engaging Joker in a conversation as if they knew him—and they might, for all Barbara knew. She wasn't introduced to them. It took a few minutes before one of the men's girlfriends waved Barbara to the other end of the couch. She then waved at her to lean forward. The buxom brunette practically had her crimson lips on Barbara's ear as she asked, "Is it true that he's hung like a horse?"

Barbara grinned, trying her very best to make it look genuine, as she leaned back and sighed. Why was everyone so invested in her damn sex life? She couldn't even make a move without being interrupted by stupid publicity dates, and here everyone was thinking she was riding Joker every second of every day. It was hard enough to get enough time with him—and just him—to properly make-out with him. Maybe there was some secret trick to speed-sex that Barbara, who had yet to cash in her V card, had yet to learn.

Joker was chuckling with the man who had sat down on the couch across from them. A waitress, blonde and looking like she'd rather be anywhere but here, came and took their drink order. Barbara was the only one drinking water. The waitress returned quicker than she might have imagined with their drinks. Barbara sat back in her seat as the couch across from them switched ownership several times with men and women who came to gawk and chat with the great and fearsome Joker. The women all asked Barbara variations on the same question, and she was running out of steam on her "don't kiss and tell" grin. Her grimaces were definitely coming out. Joker, on the other hand, was charming and disarming. He held the attention of all who stopped to talk with him, making them roar with laughter. Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity—but was in reality only about an hour—Barbara needed a break. She was going to find a restroom.

She stood, about to step away, when she was pulled to a sudden stop by a tight grip on her wrist. She muttered an "ow" that went unheard in the thumping music. She turned to find Joker, grinning evenly up at her, his hand encircling her wrist.

"Where are you going?" he shouted at her.

"You're hurting my wrist," she shouted back at him.

He didn't let go. It was really beginning to ache. Her brow furrowed.

"I'm going to the restroom. Be right back."

With a blink, and a softer grin, he let go. "I'm sorry. Was just making sure. Hurry back, my dearest."

The women—this pair of bimbos drunk as hell—aww'd at the endearment. Barbara forced a smile and a nod as she turned. She made sure she was inside the bathroom—which was oddly empty—before she rubbed the spot on her wrist. She could hear her father's voice in her ears, warning her. She shook it off. It had been an accident. He had just tried to stop her to ask her before she got too far out of earshot. That was all.

She bent, checking under the stalls. No one. She leaned up, brow arched. The club was packed. How in the hell was the _women's_ bathroom empty? She shook her head. Why was she complaining? The bathroom seemed to seal out all the noise from that ridiculous DJ outside. Now, it was only Barbara's head that was thumping. She made her way over to a sink and turned on the cold water. She held her hands under the stream, just relishing it. It was so refreshing after being in the constant heat that was the mass of bodies on the other side of the door.

There was a _click_, like a lock sliding into place. And it sounded like it came from the bathroom's door. She turned, her eyes wide.

"Trouble in paradise?" the newest arrival asked.

He was dressed in red, black, with accents of yellow. The suit he wore covered him from his neck to his toes, save for his arms—the sleeves were capped, and he wore black gloves on his hands. A domino mask with whited-out eyes hid his identity, but the black and yellow R on his chest told Barbara all she needed to know.

"You're Robin. Batman's sidekick," she said.

He smirked. "Assistant."

She returned his smirk, crossing her arms. "Sidekick. What the hell are you doing in here? Locking me in? You know who I am, right?"

Robin took a single step forward. "Of course. You're Barbara Gordon, daughter of Commissioner James Gordon and Barbara Eileen Gordon nee Kean. You're also the Joker's main squeeze as of late, which is why I'm here."

"Oh God," Barbara groaned. "You're not here to ask me how he is in bed too, are you?"

Robin looked like he was caught somewhere between wanting to laugh and wanting to vomit. It was hilarious. He regained his stoic face and huffed.

"No. I'm not. I'm sure you're aware that your father is still actively investigating your boyfriend."

She nodded, mentally hating the word "boyfriend." It sounded so juvenile. Robin continued.

"Well, Batman, like Commissioner Gordon, is also convinced that the Joker is still up to his shady dealings. We've done some research on you."

Barbara's heart skipped a beat. Did Batman know? Did he know that she was the reason Joker was free? There would be no keeping it from her dad if the Bat knew.

"We know you're a good person. We know that, criminally speaking, you're clean. Squeaky clean, actually."

Barbara let her sigh of relief die as a breath through her nose. "So… what? Am I missing the point here, or have you yet to arrive at it?"

"My _point_, Miss Gordon, is this. We want you to be our person on the inside. We want you to gather as much information as you can about the Joker, and his dealings, and get it to us. We would provide you with all the equipment you could ever need, and of course, your safety would be guaranteed."

She could have sworn steam was rolling out of her ears. She uncrossed her arms, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. "My safety is _already_ guaranteed. And I am _not_ going to spy on my _boyfriend_!"

She stomped forward the several steps that separated them and jabbed a finger in the vigilante's face. "Let me out. Now!"

Robin nodded. Out of seemingly thin air, he produced a plain, black business card, a telephone number etched in yellow upon it. Underneath the number, only the Bat's symbol.

"In case you change your mind," he said, turning and undoing the lock. He held his hand there a moment longer, looking over his shoulder at her. "You should be careful, Miss Gordon."

She bristled. "Is that a threat?"

He grinned. "A friendly warning."

He stepped back, and she shoved her way out of the bathroom. She stomped her way all the way back to the VIP section to see a brunette leaning down by the Joker, whispering something in his ear. She wanted to scream. The brunette left as Barbara moved to stand over the Joker.

"I want to leave," she said, not caring at all that he had no idea why she was angry.

She half expected an argument, some stupid statement about his publicist, but instead, he stood. He grabbed up his hat, cane, and coat.

"Let's," he said, offering her his arm.

Barbara could feel her whole body relax as she took it. She dared a glance backward at the bathroom she had left—and the line now forming outside of it. She shook herself, instead hugging a bit closer to Joker as they made their way out of the club.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The coffee house was only half-full, which was a travesty in and of itself. This place—called The Daily Grind—was walking distance off Gotham U's campus and had the best pumpkin spiced latte that Barbara had ever tasted. She was fully aware that it was the most "hipster" thing she could have ordered, thanks to Jason's observation, but she didn't care. It was like pure heaven in her mouth.

Currently, that was her coffee-drinking partner, Jason. They were seated at a table by the large, picture window, and they were toasting to having just successfully completed their midterms tests/assignments. His drink of choice was a coffee with so much sugar in it that Barbara was sure would have required an entire crop. After about six sips in, Jason lifted his cup to her.

"To Barbara, the whole damn reason I am passing English Comp I!"

"Hear, hear!" Barbara said, drinking with him.

They both chuckled when they set their cups back down. Barbara, despite the store being well heated and her coffee being approximately the temperature of lava, was still dressed warmly in a down-jacket and a red scarf that Sarah had crocheted for her. She gripped her cup in both hands on the table, relishing the warmth. She loved the chill and the colors of autumn, but really couldn't handle the cold. Jason, in contrast, was only in a leather jacket, a t-shirt under that, and a pair of jeans.

"For real, though, you've really helped me. I think I even learned some stuff," he said.

Barbara put a hand over her heart and gasped dramatically. "Against your _will_?"

"Yeah, about like, adjectives and stuff."

Barbara shook her head, huffing out a laugh. "Oh yes, 'adjectives and stuff.' Job well done, me."

Jason laughed, scratching at the back of his head. He took a small sip of his coffee again, before smacking his lips and sighing.

"So, what's your Thanksgiving Day plans?"

They had just left the campus as their last official day for this week. They were free until the following Monday. Barbara grinned.

"Nothing fancy. Dinner with Dad and Sarah—well, more like a lunch. We always do ours at one in the afternoon. Then, I'm planning to go to Joker's for another dinner."

"Ah," Jason said. "First holiday with the boyfriend."

She winced, hissing like she'd touched something hot. "I hate that word. But significant other sounds too… cold."

"Bae, perhaps?" Jason offered, laughing when she curled up her nose. "All right, not that one. But, again, a separate dinner? So he's not invited to the folks', I take it?"

Barbara laughed at that, going so hard to even snort. She covered her mouth and nose, watching as Jason arched a brow, smiling uncertainly at her. She shook her head.

"God, no. Could you imagine, bringing Joker home for Thanksgiving? Dad would have a coronary right there!"

Jason chuckled. "Yeah. Guess you've got a point."

Barbara shrugged. "Joker hasn't really even done the whole 'meet the parents' thing. Honestly, I haven't pushed it either. I just don't think it's something that's going to go over well."

"Well, I mean, your dad has, very technically, _met_ Joker before… just… you know… not in the same context."

He said his words slowly, gingerly, the perfect example of the feeling of walking on eggshells. Barbara sighed.

"Exactly. Which is another reason he's not coming."

"But, Babs… what if it gets, I dunno… serious?"

She took a small sip from her drink, surprised but pleased that it was still scalding hot. "It's only been a few months. If it gets super serious, I'll cross that bridge when I get there."

Jason bobbed his head in an understanding nod. She leaned back in her seat, arms crossed so that her hands were tucked into the soft sleeves of her jacket.

"So, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"What are your Thanksgiving Day plans?"

Jason laughed, if not a bit ruefully. Barbara stared at her friend. This was not a new occurrence. Here and there, whenever home life came up, Jason always seemed a bit… on edge. Like there was something about it he disliked. He never seemed to portray outright hatred… it was almost like there was just one or two things short of it being perfect. It worried her what those one or two things could be. For his sake, she plastered a playful grin on her face.

"What? Things not all fun and games up in the big ol' Wayne manor?"

Jason blinked, as if he had not caught his own initial reaction. He met her bright smile with one of his own, shaking his head.

"It's not quite that. It's just… Bruce has a couple of friends—well, they're more akin to family—coming in, and it's always awkward. Plus, there's always work. Doesn't matter the time of year, or even of the day or night. There's _always_ work."

Barbara frowned, leaning forward. "I get that. I mean, hell, my dad's a cop. He could get called off at any time during Thanksgiving. Usually does, since we do live in Gotham."

Jason laughed. "Yeah. Which, speaking of work… I gotta go. Bruce is expecting me."

They both stood and hugged their goodbye. He thanked her again, and the two parted ways outside the shop. Jason soon vanished into the small crowds of people milling about this district of Gotham—which was home to all small, privately own boutiques. Barbara, though, was in no rush to go home. She had no plans to meet with Joker, and with no schoolwork or work to think of, she turned her mind to the upcoming holidays. She walked listlessly, but gleefully, along, gazing into shop windows as she made mental plans for the types of things—and the several people—she wanted to shop for. Black Friday was close as well, and some of even these small boutiques were advertising sales on their items. Barbara ducked into one or two shops to pick up their business card, so she'd remember. Finally, she called an Uber and was home in moments.

Outside, there were three cars, instead of the two she was used to, in the drive. She knew her dad's and Sarah's, but the third—a nice four-door, teal, and older but not too old—she didn't know. It was a holiday, so a guest wouldn't be too out of place. She entered the house to find both her father and Sarah standing over the couch, grinning.

"Barbara, I'm glad you're home. Come sit with us," Jim said.

"Oh, no," she moaned. "What now?"

Jim laughed nearly to the point of guffawing. "No, no. Nothing like that. Come on."

He pointed to the seat next to Sarah, and once the women were seated, he took a seat on the coffee table so that he could face them. He exchanged a happy smile with Sarah before turning back to his daughter.

"Barbara, honey… I'm just… _We're _just so happy. You've been so… responsible lately. And you're really flourishing in school, judging on how you talk about it."

She grinned, still a little wary of this impromptu family meeting. "Yeah. I love it. Pretty sure I passed my midterms."

"That so great," Sarah said, grabbing one of her hands and giving it a little squeeze.

Barbara was starting to really worry. She could guess the real meaning behind the use of "responsible," but the rest of this cheeriness… Jim smiled and pulled out a small box, tied with a red bow.

"Well, we wanted to get you an early Christmas present. Here you go," he said, handing her the box.

It was small, just a touch bigger than a box that a ring box might be wrapped inside of. She pulled at one tail of the cloth ribbon, watching it fall away and cover her hand while she lifted the lid off the box. Inside was a single set of keys… car keys. Her eyes lit up, and she leapt to her feet, Jim matching her movements. She threw her arm around her dad.

"You guys got me a _car_? Oh, Dad!"

"Merry super early Christmas!" both Jim and Sarah yelled at her.

They all three engaged in a hug, jumping just a touch as Barbara was actually bouncing, she was so happy. She pulled away, gazing at the key ring in her hand—as if they might spontaneously vanish.

"Dad, I was saving… I was going to ask you to match whatever I managed to save this semester. Oh, it must have been thousands of dollars… let me still match it!"

"Oh, no," Jim said, wagging a finger. "It's a Christmas present. No going halfers on a Christmas present. Besides, Sarah and I wanted a way to know you'd be safe, with your own transportation. So… here you go."

"Thank you," she said, almost to the point of joyful tears.

She whirled, ready to head out the door to give her new car a once over, when her parents stopped her. Gently, Sarah and Jim tugged her back down onto the couch.

"There's one more thing we wanted to tell you," Jim said, grinning so much that it looked like it was painful.

Barbara's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

The two parents exchanged a look. Then, Sarah, all soft smiles, said, "I'm pregnant."

… And Barbara was sure she was going to hurl.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating and some tags coming into play here.

Barbara wasn't sure how long she had been up in her room, her head and heart both steadily thumping against her bones. Her father and Sarah's happy faces kept circling her mind, and damn it, but she was having a hard time remembering exactly how she had responded to the news. Had she congratulated them? Her father hadn't followed her up to her room, so surely, she had hidden this well of conflicting emotions good enough. Behind her a tiny beep caused her to jump. She whirled, once she realized it was only her digital alarm clock and stared in wonder at the fact that it read twelve in the morning. Hadn't she come up here after dinner? Had she really been alone, in her bedroom, feeling as though every part of her was going to explode, for the better part of six hours? She was going to go crazy if she didn't do something. Her body made its decision before her mind did.

She got up off her bed, checked her face in the mirror—she looked as white as a ghost, which seemed to make her red hair even brighter—and grabbed a cardigan and her scarf off her desk chair. Outside of her bedroom, she moved quietly but swiftly, stopping in the kitchen to leave a note—more of an afterthought. Her father, given his profession, was a constant worrier, and if she didn't leave a note telling him where she had gone, he would call out the entirety of the GCPD to find her. This was something she would like to avoid. Then, grabbing her purse off the entry table, she left the house, gently closing and locking the front door behind her.

She would never been so grateful for her father's gift of a car as she was at this moment. A brief wave of nausea washed over her as she wondered if he had bought the car to prepare her for this—a child. Her half-sibling, by the woman who had been his mistress. Barbara shoved those dark thoughts away—she was trying to grow beyond them, for Christ's sake—and got into the car. Things had been good… so good between her and Sarah. And now… this. She pulled out of the driveway and drove.

She had no particular destination in mind, and her father had always taught her that the city was a million times more dangerous at night. But she wasn't going into the seedier parts of the city. Instead, she found herself parking in front of the skyrise apartments atop which the Joker lived. The doorman, one who Barbara had never seen before—the nightshift, supposedly, was obviously surprised to see her exit the vehicle. She shoved her keys into her purse, and told the older gentleman that she was going to the top. He blinked, again surprised, but a dawning comprehension seemed to come over him. He nodded, muttered, "Of course, Miss," and buzzed her in. She went straight for the elevator and jammed her thumb into the up button. It took only moments for the thing to ding open in front of her, given the late hour, and she entered and hit the button for the penthouse. She was on the top floor in seconds, standing in front of the one and only door on the floor's very short hall.

It was here that she paused, her fist lifted and stopped just short of a knock. It was midnight, after now. She had made no calls to let Joker know that she was coming over. Sure, their relationship was well established… but was she overstepping a boundary here? Would he be angry with her? Was he even awake?

From beyond the door, the tinkling sound of piano keys reached her ears. He was playing, just an ambling sort of tune—not one she could recognize. She swallowed and steeled her resolve. She knocked.

"Who is it?" he called in sing-song.

It brought a brief smile to her face before her pounding heart reminded her as to why she had quickly exited her house at this hour.

"It's me," she answered.

The sounds of the piano stopped, and she could hear the tap of his shoes as he crossed the room. A few locks and bolts later, and the door was pulled wide open. She all but ran across the threshold, relieved.

She walked into the wide-open, sunken living room. Once inside it, she began to pace back and forth, speaking anything and everything that seemed to come to mind.

"I didn't know where else to go. I had to get out of that house. I was losing my mind there tonight, after everything. Oh, God, I can't believe it! I can't believe this is happening! My insides feel like they're snakes all twisted into knots, and I couldn't sleep. Sleep is out of the question for me tonight."

The words rolled off her tongue in rapid succession, and she only stopped when a pair of hands gently grasped both of her arms, halting her steps. She blinked and looked up into the deep eyes of the Joker. He had a brow arched up, staring at her like she had taken leave of all of her senses. She blushed, suddenly aware of how she had just barged into his home.

"I-I'm sorry," she muttered.

His frozen grin stretched just a tad.

"Think nothing of it, my dear. But, pray tell, what has you all in a tizzy?"

He motioned to the wide sofa beside them. Barbara sank into the seat in the middle, with Joker sitting beside her. She sighed. She was shaking. Why was she shaking? She hid her face in her hands and let out a little growl.

"Are you hurt, pet?" Joker inquired, his voice dripping with concern.

She jerked her face toward his, shaking her head furiously. "No. No, I'm fine, really. I'm so sorry. I'm not even sure why I came here… I just… Tonight… hasn't been the greatest."

Joker relaxed a tad, leaning back. "Tell me."

Barbara's back seemed reluctant to rest, and she sat rigidly on the edge of her seat. She looked down at her feet and took a deep breath.

"Sarah's pregnant. I'm going to be a big sister."

"Oh," Joker said, leaning forward once more.

He draped an arm across her shoulders, and Barbara was thankful for the weight of it. It helped remind her to think, to process, what she was feeling. It was easy to do that with him asking the questions—a thought that would've been altogether crazy just a few months ago. She turned to stare at him.

"Are you angry?" he asked.

"No," she answered. Then, "Yes. I don't know. I mean, a baby, yay… I love babies. They're funny and cute. But… it feels like…"

Her brain reeled, searching for the exact words she needed to finally pinpoint the source of her problem. Because she had meant it, a new baby sounded wonderful. There was a cloud there, though, in her mind, over the idea. Finally, after a long moment of simply breathing—smelling his cologne and shampoo, he was seated so close to her—she frowned.

"It feels like another betrayal. Mom died, and Dad gets to live happily ever after with his mistress and new baby. I… I want to get past this, but… It hurts."

She sniffled, surprised to find tears welling in her eyes. She leaned into his chest and buried her face in his shirt. Her fingers moved, trying to find his usual suspenders to hook themselves around. After a second, she realized that they weren't there. She leaned back from his embrace and looked at him—really looked—taking him in fully.

It was kind of a surprise. Usually, Joker was very put-together, and looked like all he was missing from a night out on the town was his hat and coat. This was not the case at the moment.

She could tell that these were pieces from his usual purple suit, but the jacket was completely gone. The green suspenders she had been looking for were hanging down on either side of his hips. His bow tie was gone, and his orange shirt was undone at the top two buttons, revealing more of his pale, pale flesh than he usually liked. Whatever product he used in his hair to give it its usual pompadour hairstyle was losing its hold. His green hair was still mostly up, but the center of it was falling in a mess of curls. His hands were resting, one on the back of the sofa, the other dangling down as he sat turned toward her. They were both missing their gloves, showing his fingernails to be the same acid green as his hair. She had never seen him so… so undone. It was… fascinating, alluring, and she was soon realizing, irresistible.

"Pet, what's the matter?" he asked.

She didn't think twice about it. She moved to straddle his lap, and he blinked up at her. She leaned down and kissed him, full and deep. He moaned into her mouth, which caused her hips to buck in reaction. She could feel his hands rising, gently tracing her outline as they went. Barbara paused for air for only a moment before kissing him again, the move growing fervently.

Carefully, Joker's hands rested on her shoulders and pushed her back. She huffed and whined a little. He smiled up at her, a twinkle in his eye.

"You've never done this before, Babs," he whispered.

She blushed, and she was sure the color went all the way down to her toes. She shook her head. Joker reached up and cupped her face in his hand.

"Are you sure, then? Be sure, because it can't be undone once it's done."

Barbara nuzzled his hand against her face for a moment before boldly reaching for the buttons on his shirt. "I'm sure. Please, Joker… Please don't make me stop."

Whatever reservations he had had were apparently gone. He launched forward and kissed her harder than he ever had before, catching her bottom lip in his teeth for just a moment before releasing her. She gasped and found that her hips were rocking against him. He chuckled and lifted her easily off him, back into her original seat. She was ready to protest when he turned and offered her a hand.

"The bedroom, dear. If you're going to lose it to me instead of some idiot in the back of a car, then I'd better make it worth your while, don't you think?"

Barbara could only imagine what that meant, but she took his hand eagerly. He twirled her around, catching her in his arms, and planted another kiss on her.

He led her, with her moving backward, toward his bedroom, all the while kissing and nipping playfully at her lips, earlobes, and throat. She had nearly melted when his teeth had grazed her throat. Joker reached deftly around her to open the door, then easily found the switch for the lights—a dimmer, which he only turned up just enough to see. She turned and took in the room.

It wasn't anything like the extravagant bedrooms she had seen in crime scene photos of his past hideouts. Not to be mistaken, it was certainly his bedroom, but a tad more subdued. The carpet was a soft and plush white, and while there were paintings of clowns hanging on the walls, it was only three. That seemed a reasonable number to Barbara. The bed was large, circular, and set up on a dais. The bedding was a deep purple, which perfectly matched the canopy curtains of the same color. Off to the right, there was a small door which Barbara assumed was an en suite bathroom. She planted a quick kiss on Joker's cheek and held up a finger.

"Just a second, okay?" she asked, tilting her head toward the bathroom.

"Of course," he said slowly, his breath tickling her ear.

She shivered, turned, and bounced off into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Once inside the room, she paused. She padded over to the sink—one set into the marble of the countertop—and turned on some warm water. She cupped it in her hand and put it to her face, letting it run down back into the sink. She remained bent over like that, taking a deep breath, before bringing her face up to stare into the mirror.

The hair closest to her face was a little damp now, due to the water, and she had not put on any make-up before she had left her house in a panic. She looked like a real fright. Why in the world was he so willing to do this with her?

Suddenly, her whole insides quivered. This. It. Whatever you wanted to call it, Joker's words started to play through her mind. Be sure. Irreversible. She glanced over at the closed door of the bathroom. Everything was going to be different the moment she stepped out of that door.

She ran the water again, rinsing her hands under it. She shut it off once more, found the hand towel hanging to her right, and dried her hands. She took a deep breath, turned, and exited the bathroom.

Joker sat on the edge of the bed, facing the door. His shirt was completely gone, and the bedding had been turned down. "Second thoughts?" he asked.

Her eyes roved over his pale chest, and she smiled. "Not at all."

His grin widened. He crooked his finger at her.

"Come here."

She obeyed without question. He spread his knees open so that she could walk right up to him. He peppered her lips and face with kisses, his hands sliding slowly down her torso. He finally caught her lips with his and pushed his tongue inside and probed deeply. She moaned as she felt his fingertips slip underneath her blouse—she had long shrugged off her cardigan. They parted long enough to bring the shirt up and over her head. It was tossed to the side as his hands explored the newly exposed flesh.

"Beautiful," he breathed, and she blushed. He chuckled. "No need to be shy."

He brought her hand down to a very noticeable bulge in his pants. She looked up at him, something inside of her quaking. He rested his forehead against hers so that she could look him in the eyes—and only that. He guided her hand over his crotch, applying a decent amount of pressure as he moved it. He moaned, and Barbara felt a surge of courage. She leaned into him, putting just a tad more pressure on his still-clothed cock, and the laugh that followed was closer in kin to a purr.

"That's it, pet," he said.

After a moment more of this, he pushed her back, undoing the button and zipper of her jeans. She began to undo his belt, and in moments, both were in nothing but underwear. He stood, his roving hands coming to a stop at the back clasp of her bra. It was opened, causing the straps to spring forward, and Barbara shimmied out of it. His hands found her breasts and kneaded them almost to the point of pain, but just shy. He pinched an erect nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and she gasped, all but falling into him. He chuckled.

He dipped his head low and caught her lips with his, pressing her tightly against him. His hands, after a moment, moved to her hips and pushed her panties downward. Once past her hips, they fell easily to the floor where she stepped out of them, kicking them aside toward the rest of her clothes. She could feel his erection pressing into her belly, and she was caught in a horrible point of being too unsure of what to do and desperately wanting see and touch it. He gently pushed her back a pace or two and removed his boxers. Barbara bit her bottom lip to keep a gasp from escaping. She had seen pictures of the male anatomy before in all sorts of settings, but having one right here, erect, and in front of her made her shake. It was larger than she had expected, as pale as the rest of him, which made the blue of his veins stand out all the more.

His fingers danced down her arm, taking her right hand and moving it until it was wrapped firmly around his member. He gasped as began to move her hand up and down his length, going five or six strokes before letting go to let her do it all on her own. He moaned.

"Harder," he ordered.

Barbara complied, bolstered by the obscene moan he released as soon as her grip tightened, and her speed increased. She jerked him for a few minutes before he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, pulling her into a kiss that contained some bite to it. His hands slid down to her hips, and he lifted her—actually lifted her—and whirled to sit her on the bed. He leaned in upon her, causing her to move backwards, his lips never leaving hers. He moved until she was positioned at the head of the bed, and he laid her down among the pillows. Then, he moved his kisses a bit south, kissing down her jaw, pausing to bite and lick at her ear and neck before moving farther down to do the same to her breasts. She gasped when he took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard at it. Her hands were on his shoulders, and she dug her nails into him as she felt a warmth between to build in her nether regions.

"Yes," he moaned into her skin.

He released her nipple a moment later with a wet _pop_, and Barbara could not logically explain why such a sound had such an alluring quality to it. He kissed down her stomach, his hands trailing afterwards, before he was between her legs. She shook, both with pleasure and uneasiness, but when he pushed her legs open, she didn't resist. She had no reason not to trust him. Not once in this relationship had he been anything other than loyal, patient, and understanding. If he wanted to place his head between her legs, then she was sure he knew what he was doing—even if she had never understood why any person would want to do this to anyone.

He kissed her opening, which made her curl her hands in the sheets. He continued to kiss her there a few more times before finally running his tongue up the length of her. Her back arched with the lick, and she was sure that her eyes had rolled back in her head. She understood it now. He lapped at her, her moans growing louder and more needful with every swipe of his wicked tongue. Her knuckles were white in the sheets, and she could feel a wonderful heat and pressure building up inside of herself. She was right on the edge of orgasm, and it was going to be stronger than any she had ever experienced on her own—when she took the time to experiment with herself.

The dam broke, and she gasped out loud, moaning the Joker's name as she came down from the clouds. She chanced a heavy-lidded stare south, seeing that her lover's permanent grin now had a hint of smugness to it. He moved up her body, covering her mouth with his, and she could taste herself on his tongue. She grasped on to him like he was her last lifeline, and he was gentle when he pulled away from the kiss.

"Let me—" she said, trying to reverse their positions.

She wanted to suck him, wanted to make him make the same noises she'd been making. But he shook his head.

"Next time, dearest," he whispered, and she moaned as she felt him at her entrance. "Ready?"

She nodded eagerly. In one smooth move, he was inside her, and she gasped with the foreign intrusion. He held still for just a moment, giving her the time she needed to adjust to his size, then he began to move.

It didn't hurt in the way she always thought it would. She had expected the pain of losing her virginity would be sharp, like something cutting through her. Instead, it was more of a pleasant ache… like after working out for a long time. In any case, the Joker's manhood inside her was hitting all the right spots, and the ache was quickly vanishing and being replaced with that same welling of pressure and heat as before. She grasped on to him, and he dipped his head so that his lips were right by her ear.

"Say my name," he whispered.

"Joker," she moaned almost instantly. "Please… please don't stop. Oh, Joker…"

He moaned in time with her, gaining speed. She dug her nails into him, and he let out a cackle that seemed to be quickly squashed. That pressure inside of her exploded, and she arched her back, pressing her body into Joker's. Moments later, his own movements became less measured, and he cried out when found his own pleasure within her.

He rolled off her, and Barbara was suddenly struck with a pleasant sleepiness. She turned to her side, smiling. Joker faced her, running one of his long, plaster-white fingers down the length of her body. She blinked once… twice… and then sleep gently took her.

#

A sliver of sunlight leaking through the curtains woke Barbara. She blinked against it, yawning and stretching as she relished the feel of the soft bedding against her naked skin. Then, with another, more awake blink, she remembered that she wasn't at home. That she hadn't gone home at all during the night. She sat straight up, nearly knocking heads with a fully dressed Joker.

"Sorry," he chuckled. "Didn't mean to give you such a scare."

"Oh," she answered, shaking her head. "Y-you didn't. I just… I didn't go home."

He arched a brow at her. "Barbara Gordon, did you sneak out of your father's house last night, young lady?"

She blushed, holding the blanket up around her breasts. "No. I left a note. But… I told them where I was going. So Dad wouldn't call out the entire force."

"And it's appreciated. I am afraid, though, my dearest, that I must run. I have a therapy session in just a little bit. Chauncey has some breakfast for you, though."

She had forgotten that, as a part of maintaining his proper image, he was ordered into therapy by his publicist team. At Arkham Asylum, his former prison, of all places. It was a horrible little dig, Barbara had thought, but he hadn't fought it. She grinned her appreciation.

"That's all right. I should get home anyhow. I, uh, don't mean to sound needy, but… w-when can I see you again?"

He smiled at her, resting a hand on her cheek. "What about Thanksgiving night? We'll do our own little dinner. Chauncey's already offered to cook."

"Is he… is he, um… good at it?"

Joker let out a quick laugh, suppressing it. "Yes, actually."

She grinned. "Then I'll be here. Would six be good?"

He leaned forward, kissing her slowly. "Six is perfect."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only two POV changes in this one. There will be more in the sequel, but this is the first of the two.

She would have to be crazy not to have noticed the difference. Before, in their previous sessions, Joker had been a ball of excitable energy. He always had to be moving, whether it was drumming his fingers on the back of the couch or tapping his foot on the floor.

But not today.

No, today, Joker was relaxed, leaned back on the couch. His grin was wide and unabashed. It was her—his patient, dear Doctor Harleen Quinzel—that couldn't hold still. She held her pen just enough aloft over her yellow legal pad to keep it from making noise as she wobbled it back and forth in between her index and middle finger. Her eyes kept darting from the Joker—who was talking of his various media deals—to her notes. They were a scribbled, hurried mess. She had been doodling just before he had entered the room in the top, right corner of the pad. A "Barbara + Joker" had been written, with Barbara's name being scratched, almost furiously, out. Below "Joker" was added another "+" followed by Harleen's own name.

She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, forcing herself to focus on her patient. She knew that such doodles were unprofessional, but she figured that proverbial ship had sailed long ago. No, now she did in fact focus on Joker, taking in his relaxed demeanor. He was telling a joke now, one that he had apparently told to his publicist. Briefly, Harleen thought that it wasn't so long ago that a joke from the Joker was a deadly thing to hear. But, now, not so.

He was happy. That was a common misconception most often placed on her patient. It was the grin. Most people didn't bother looking below the surface. But she did. She was trained to do just that. Joker, in their previous sessions, had seemed… not happy. Not exactly sad, but definitely devoid of happiness and joy. That had changed with _her_.

Harleen ground her teeth together, covering the move with a tight-lipped grin. Barbara Gordon, the police commissioner's barely legal daughter. Joker had shared with Harleen that that young woman had been the author of his lawyer's now infamous closing statement. Harleen had been floored but had also been flushed with pride. Joker _trusted_ her. Only her. Right now, to the doctor's knowledge, only four people in the world knew who had written the statement—the lawyer, the Joker, Barbara, and Harleen. It was an honor to be trusted so much by the once Clown Prince of Crime.

Her face flushed with the memory, and she discreetly yanked at her shirt's collar. She chided herself, telling herself to focus. Joker was done with his joke now, and Harleen gave a laugh to match his.

His, which was no longer the loud, boisterous laugh that had been captured so many times on the news prior to his trial. No, her poor angel had been trampled and caged, misunderstood. Now, his laugh was a carefully calculated move, perfectly restrained within the constructions of this malformed society that would punish and lock away that which it didn't understand. Joker took a deep breath, and Harleen took this opportunity to interject herself into this conversation before she actually combusted.

"You've slept with her, haven't you?"

She pressed her hand over her mouth. She instantly dropped it down to the legal pad, schooling her features into passive neutrality. She hadn't meant to ask it quite like that, but what was done was done. Joker, for his part, arched a brow at her. He flashed one of his most devilish grins at her.

"My dear Doctor Quinzel… are we jealous?"

Harleen pressed the point of her pencil down onto the legal pad until the tip broke. She forced a smile to her face that she knew couldn't possible have made it to her eyes.

"Not at all."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His brow was still arched in that suggestive way, and Harleen could feel the heat rising to her cheeks again. She began a mantra in her head, urging herself to keep control. She was his doctor, for Christ's sake. Everything before… it could have cost her everything. This was for the best. Jealousy could put some sunglasses over those green eyes. It had no business here.

But Joker—just ever so slightly—turned his head toward the far-left corner of the room, still grinning his too-wide smile at his doctor. Under her breath, Harleen groaned. She could still see it, feel _him_, holding her against the corner—in the cameras' blind spot. She could still feel him sliding inside of her, her strong legs—gymnastics trained—locked around his waist as he drove his way home.

That had come to an end with Barbara. Joker didn't seem like the type of guy who would care much—if at all—about the feelings of others, but when he had made it official with little Miss Gordon, he had ceased their rutting. He claimed it would be disrespectful to her and detrimental to what he wanted out of this relationship. Harleen had told him that she understood.

She really, really wanted to claw Barbara Gordon's damn eyes out. Now, in the present, Joker leaned back once more on the couch.

"I don't normally kiss and tell… but since you _are_ my therapist… Yes. We have… cemented our relationship, so to speak."

Harleen felt like she was choking. She reached up and undid the top button of her blouse. "Oh?"

"I was her first," he stated smugly.

Harleen pursed her lips. "Is that… was that important to you?"

Joker drummed his fingers, just once, on the back of the couch. "In a way, all things considered, it was very important."

Harleen blinked. "I don't understand."

"My dear doctor… do you paint? Or play an instrument?"

She shook her head. "The most artistic I got was back in school when I would choreograph my floor exercise in gymnastics."

Joker arched that damnable brow at her again. "Ah, a gymnast. Explains a lot."

Harleen was sure she was as red as her shirt now. Joker continued, "Back when you were planning those exercises… you started with an empty floor and a long potential list of music, did you not? Nearly infinite, yes, those possible songs?"

Harleen nodded. "Yes. But I'm still not sure I follow."

"Much like a painter or composer. You start with a blank canvas or sheet. When you look at it, though, through the eye of a painter, composer, or a gymnast with a boombox and a mat, you see everything that could be. With Barbara… I see what she can be. I see every ounce of potential within that young woman, and I've never seen anyone with that particular brand of potential since, well, myself. Being her first… it was just a step in the direction of her becoming exactly who she's supposed to be."

"So… she's the blank canvas, the floor mat?"

"Exactly."

"And you're… shaping her? Molding her?"

"I saw the seeds of it within that statement. I saw a kindred spirit. But where I had been set free to experience and realize myself… she has only ever been caged and beaten down. No longer. I won't tolerate it. I'm freeing her."

"To… be the person she's meant to be?"

"Exactly."

Harleen's brow knitted together. She frowned, passing a brief glance over the scribble on her notebook that hid the "Barbara +" beneath.

"Are you sure you're not just… molding her to the way _you_ want her to be?"

It was jealousy's last-ditch effort. She had to make her Joker—her _patient_, she mentally amended—see the truth. She didn't expect the look of satisfaction on his face.

"Why, dear Doctor Quinzel… they're exactly the same thing."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

There was nothing said to Barbara upon her arrival home from her night spent with the Joker. She had walked in to her father having left her a note that both he and Sarah had gone to work. Now, on Thanksgiving Day, still nothing had been said. In fact, so far, it had been a very pleasant day. She assisted Sarah in her cooking and baking, while Jim had flipped back and forth between the parade and football, eternally uncertain which one he'd rather watch. Their goal had been a one o'clock dinner, as Barbara had told her parents of plans to go to the Joker's for a dinner at six that evening. There had been no grumbling, and if she wasn't mistaken, she was sure that Jim and Sarah had seemed a little relieved that this meant that Joker would not be showing up at their house.

That went for the three of them. Barbara cringed even just imagining how conversation would have gone. As it was, one in the afternoon was fast approaching, and, amazingly, things were right on track. The turkey was out and resting. All the side dishes were done and cooling. And the pies were sitting on the countertop, doing the same. Jim and Barbara were now setting the table, which was dressed for the holiday with a plushie turkey that had been in the family as long as Barbara had—Jim had won it on a whim out of a claw machine, long ago—some fake fall foliage, and a pumpkin orange table runner with decorative, brown, swirled stitching in it. Barbara set out the plates for three place settings, while Jim had taken it upon himself to do the flatware and the glasses. Barbara set the large dinner plates, with a smaller dessert saucer on top, in their usual spots when Jim motioned to the fourth, usually empty seat at the table.

"I forgot to mention… set one more, would you, sweetheart?"

Sarah and Barbara both stared at him. Jim shrugged.

"I invited someone."

Sarah now turned bodily toward her husband, hands on her hips. "And didn't tell the chef?"

Jim looked appropriately sheepish. "I knew we'd have enough. I ran into him at the precinct and invited him."

Right on cue, the doorbell rang. Barbara placed the requested dishware down before announcing that she would answer. She peeped through the eyehole, surprised to see none other than Jason Todd standing on the other side. She opened the door, and her view of their surprise guest was instantly obscured by a bouquet of sunflowers and roses.

"These are for you. Uhh… _all_ of you," he said.

Barbara accepted them and gestured for him to enter the house. He scratched at the back of his head, smiling that apologetic smile that he always did when he was uncomfortable.

"Sorry. Uh, see, the thing is… I suck at cooking. Alfred does all of that up at the manor. And I'm not old enough to buy alcohol, but I thought it would be rude to show up without something. So… flowers."

"They're lovely," Sarah said, as she and Jim floated into the living room.

She took the bouquet from Barbara, saying something about finding a vase, and disappeared back into the kitchen. Jim smiled wide, offering the younger man a hearty handshake.

"Yeah, I ran into Jason here at the station, and we started talking. He mentioned that he was thankful for your tutoring, and I thought… thankful… Thanksgiving. So I invited him."

The three of them made their way back into the kitchen, where Sarah was now lining up the turkey and side dishes for easy serving. They would line up and serve themselves, as they did every year. Barbara handed Jason his plate after grabbing her own, hoping he'd get the idea and follow after her.

"I accepted since our dinner isn't until later tonight. Besides… Dick and Bruce don't really get along all that well. And with Selena there… things are just tense when it's all of us all day. A lunch dinner with no angry family members sounds like a great way to start the day," Jason explained as they began to line up by the food.

Sarah, since she did most of the cooking, was given the opportunity to build her plate first. She did so without argument, with Barbara and Jason going next, and Jim bringing in the rear. Jason, who Barbara pushed to be in front of her—as he was the guest—glanced back at her. Undoubtedly, he noticed the look in her eye. She felt a little bad about that, since it wasn't meant for him.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, almost making the statement a question.

Barbara put on a bright smile. "Not at all, Jason. After all, you're a _friend_."

She turned to lock her gaze on her father, who looked determinedly away. Sarah, already taking a seat at the table, did nothing to hide her chuckling. Once Barbara, Jason, and Jim joined her, she rested her hands on either side of herself on the table. Barbara reached over and took her father's hand, snatching Jason's from his side while he tentatively put his right hand in Sarah's.

"Let's pray," she said, bowing her head.

Saying grace was not something that was common in the Gordon household. Judging by the brief look of surprise on Jason's face before he lowered his head, it wasn't common up at Wayne Manor either. Barbara would never describe her family—or herself—as overly religious, but there were certain beliefs that held. Saying grace on a holiday was part of those clinging beliefs. As it was, Sarah made the prayer brief before saying, "Amen," and being echoed about the table.

"So, what are you going to school for, Jason?" Jim asked right before shoving a large bite of turkey and stuffing into his mouth.

"Um, business… I haven't really narrowed it down from that. I figure that, one day, I might want to lend Bruce a hand in his company… but I'd like to know something of what I'm doing first."

"Hmm…" Barbara said, a little louder than what she had intended.

Jason arched a brow at her, his mouth quirking up at the corners. "What? Can't picture it?"

She shrugged. "You just seem more… hands on than the life that going to a nine-to-five in a suit would bring you."

"Like a mechanic?"

"Well, maybe. If that's what you like. Or maybe carpentry. Or something else."

"Hey now," Sarah said, swallowing a bite of her food. "While it's true that not everyone can be a doctor or a lawyer, it doesn't say that we can't start out _trying_ to be one of those. Maybe Jason will find an aspect of business he loves. Or maybe he'll grow to hate it and take up something completely different."

Barbara felt her cheeks redden and a wave of anger washed over her. "I wasn't insulting him," she snipped. Then, blinking and staring over at her friend, "At least… that wasn't my intention."

Jason laughed. "It's all right, red. I didn't see it like that. Honestly, I thought about all of this before applying. I don't know if I'll really like business school… but it's a start."

The conversation lulled for a moment after that, everyone too busy devouring their food to pick up another thread. Then, finally, Jason gazed over at Barbara.

"What are you majoring in, by the way?"

"Library sciences," she answered without hesitation.

He chuckled. "You want to be a librarian? Seriously?"

"I'm doing gymnastics too. I just…. I haven't tried out for that yet. I'm trying for a scholarship next semester. Wanted to get my feet wet first, make sure I could hold my own in the classes. And what's so wrong with me wanting to be a librarian?"

Jason tried to hide his laughing smile behind his hand—and was doing a poor job of it. "Well, you know how business didn't seem to fit me? Well, librarian fits you _too_ well."

Jim and Sarah cracked up while Barbara fought the urge to slump down into her chair like a sullen child. Instead, she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, ha-ha. Very funny."

The rest of dinner proceeded with no difficulties, and dessert was a similar affair. Finally, plates were cleared, and Sarah and Jim retired to the living room, with Barbara and Jason volunteering to do the dishes. Barbara was washing and rinsing, while Jason dried and put them away. About two plates in, Jason chanced a glance over his shoulder at the relaxing Jim and Sarah. Then, looking back at Barbara, he shook his head.

"You seemed… different today."

Barbara scrubbed a stubborn spot of food off a plate, not bothering to look up as she said, "Oh?"

"Yeah. I don't know. Maybe it's just because you're on your home turf or something. You just seem much more… open."

Barbara smirked. Jason was perhaps a touch more astute than anyone gave him credit for. "Maybe it's that."

They were just about through with the dishes, moving on to the pots and pans—a couple of which would need to soak—when Jason asked, "So… are you seeing _him_ tonight?"

"You can say 'Joker.' I am dating him. And yes, I've got to be there at six for dinner. After I get these pans soaking, I really need to get dressed, if that's okay."

Jason shook his head. "Hey, don't disrupt your routine or plans on my account."

"I just… I don't want you to feel like I'm rushing you out of the house or anything."

"No, it's fine. Actually, could I ask you for a favor?"

She arched a brow at him. After all, the last person who asked her for a "favor" when she mentioned the Joker had been Robin… and he had wanted her to spy on him.

"I Ubered here, but I keep a bike at the tower apartments next to the ones Joker lives in… Bruce owns that tower. Could I get you to drop me there on your way? I don't mind hanging out until you're done."

The question of why Jason would randomly stash a bike at one of Mr. Wayne's apartments was on the tip of her tongue. But, after a moment, she thought better of asking. Instead, she nodded.

They got the pots that needed soaking doing so, and Barbara darted into her room to dress. She picked out a fall-colored dress that fell to mid-thigh, was a warm, almost goldenrod yellow, and did her make-up to match in neutral tones. It took her about twenty or so minutes to get dressed and cleaned up, and she stepped out into the living room to find Jason conversing easily with her parents. Barbara fought down the scowl on her fact at Sarah reclining on her father. She was being childish. She knew that. But it still ate at her, that Sarah got a happy ever after while her mother was cold in the ground. She shook the dark thoughts off, announcing herself with a small cough. Jim smiled up at his daughter—and it was only a little tight-lipped.

"You look good, honey," he said.

"Thanks. Um, if it's alright… I was going to go ahead and go."

It seemed stupid to ask for permission, now that she had her own vehicle and had spent the night with him already. But old habits died hard. Sarah glanced at her watch.

"Yeah, there might still be some traffic with the people who had to work today getting off and rushing home for dinner. Or people getting from one dinner to another. Have fun, Barbara, all right?"

Barbara smiled, images of the "fun" she had had with Joker the other night flashing through her mind.

"I will. Bye. Love you," she said, planting a kiss on her father's cheek.

"Onward to dinner at Wayne Manor… yay," Jason muttered as they stepped out the front door.

Barbara laughed.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Save for the music playing low on the radio—Christmas music already—the drive was a quiet one. Jason was tapping his fingers idly in time with the beat on the door, while Barbara was gripping the steering wheel like she was roaring down a raceway. As it was, they were nearly standing still. Sarah hadn't been kidding about the amount of possible of traffic. It was bumper-to-bumper—or very close to, as they were pulling out of the suburban neighborhood the Gordons inhabited and into the city proper. Every so often, they'd go forward about ten or so feet, only to stop again. Not exactly a fantastic first week of owning her own vehicle.

Jason was humming with the song now, staring out of his passenger window. Barbara couldn't handle it anymore.

"So… I have a question."

"Uh-huh?"

"Why is it that… that you keep a bike separate from Wayne Manor?"

Jason turned his head, ever so slightly, toward her. Barbara pursed her lips, immediately realizing how incredibly nosy that must have sounded. She was concerned, not a gossip. She pried one of her hands off the wheel to wave it dismissively in the air, as if she could swipe her words away.

"You totally don't have to answer that! I don't wanna pry!" she said quickly.

Jason chuckled. "Nah, it's fine. I guess it comes off as kind of weird when you don't know the whole thing. So, you know about me being homeless before Bruce, right?"

Barbara's stomach gurgled uncomfortably, and she knew it had nothing to do with the amount of food she had eaten. She was beginning to feel like she was the only one he ever brought his homelessness up with—which was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, she felt honored that he thought her someone he could speak about this stuff with. On the other, she felt like she was always forcing it out of him.

"Yeah, I do. Again, you don't have to answer, if it's hard to talk about," she said as they moved forward another ten feet in traffic.

Again, he gave her that winning smile. "It's fine, Babs. Anyway, it was pretty rough, as you can imagine. Despite having the open air as your home, you feel… well, you feel pretty trapped. There was always a gang. Always a bully. Always a fight, and always the survival of the fittest. Well, now, I have the means to escape. I vowed, when Bruce took me in, that I'd never feel trapped again. So, in a few of the buildings that Bruce owns, I dropped a couple of bikes. I'll always have an exit."

He seemed to lose himself for a moment, staring straight ahead. Traffic was picking up, but only a touch. It wasn't so far from Barbara's house to the two skyscraper apartments that was their destination, but it was taking forever. She dared a glance over at Jason.

"Is… I mean… Is everything okay? With Mr. Wayne? I mean, do you _need_ to escape?"

Horrible worst-case scenarios danced across her mind. She pictured no less than a dozen different situations that would leave Jason wanting to run for the proverbial hills. Each one made her heart ache more for her friend. To her surprised, he let out a loud bark of laughter.

"Hell no! I love being—" he paused, seeming to think better of something, before adding, "I love living with Bruce. He's a nice guy, in his own way. Just like all the papers say. I mean, yeah, him and Dick don't always get along… but Dick doesn't hate him like he thinks he does. You can just tell. Bruce Wayne saved my life, and I will forever owe him that. Oh, Babs, that's my stop."

Barbara blinked, looking over to her left. Jason wasn't kidding. The other set of apartments were so close that they shared one mega parking deck. Barbara pulled up to the little guard station, and both Jason and she flashed their credentials—Joker had gotten Barbara added to the list of those allowed to park here. The guard—an older gentleman, dressed in standard security guard garb—arched a brow but otherwise waved them through. Jason directed her toward the bike, and she pulled up behind it. He stepped out of the car, turning and smiling at her through the passenger window.

"Thank your dad for the invite for me, will you? And, thanks for the drop."

"Anytime," she smiled. He waved at her, hopped on the bike, revved it, and was off. Barbara backed up and stole his parking spot, snickering about it the whole while. She left the parking deck with a cheery wave at the guard and offered the same wave and a "Happy Thanksgiving," to the doorman. Once inside, she went straight up to Joker's penthouse and knocked on the door.

Joker pulled the door open, greeting her with a smile—as always—and a kiss. He ushered her inside, and the delicious aroma of turkey and various herbs and spices wafted in from the kitchen. Barbara's stomach, like she hadn't eaten just hours earlier, growled. Joker took her jacket and tossed it over the sofa.

"That smells amazing," she moaned softly.

"Told you he was good at it," Joker answered.

Barbara turned toward the source of the smells and called, "Happy Thanksgiving, Chauncey!"

"Happy Thanksgiving to you, Miss Gordon!" came the happy roar.

She laughed, gazing up at the Joker. "Sorry I'm early. Only thirty minutes, but the traffic was awful."

"You're welcome anytime, pooh. But, since we've got some time—Chauncey was actually estimating six-thirty for dinner—could I have a word with you?'

He looked serious. Joker never looked serious. Instantly, Barbara grew worried. She nodded, and Joker led her into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just that Wallace, the guard at the deck, said you arrived with some young man. He wanted me to know."

Barbara's eyes widened, and she could feel the white-hot heat of rage growing inside of her. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

"Are you having your people _spy_ on me? You don't trust me?" she demanded.

Joker's smile was forced into a straight line as he answered, "That's not it at all, m'dear. Wallace is just aware of the age difference and is looking out for me. _Should_ I be concerned?"

Barbara let her arms fall to her sides. Where was this coming from? She shook her head.

"Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me? I've never lied to you. Jason is a friend. I went to high school with him, and I am tutoring him in English, if you must know."

Joker nodded. "Yes. I do seem to remember you mentioning him. But, dearest, that doesn't answer why he was with you just now."

Barbara balled her hands into fists. "This is ridiculous. I don't have to get your permission to hang out with my _friends._ He was at Thanksgiving, and he asked if I could give him a ride to his bike. That's all."

The change in Joker's countenance was instant. His lips twisted into a scowl, his eyes narrowed, and his voice went from his usual lilting playful one to one dark and full of sharp things.

"So _he_ gets to be apart of your family's holiday, but it would be too much trouble if I was?"

"Too much trouble," had been almost word-for-word her text when he asked about attending the Gordons' Thanksgiving festivities. Barbara shook her head.

"My dad invited him. It was out of my hands!" she all but screamed at him.

"A ploy to get you to fall for someone else, or did you not get that?" Joker growled.

"I'm not an idiot. This is all just—"

She stopped short of saying, "crazy." Instead, she huffed, putting her back to him. "Maybe I should just leave."

She heard a soft growl, and she tensed. Unbidden, all the stories her father had told her of all of his crimes swirled around to the forefront of her mind. Then, gently, she felt his hands—gloved, as he was dressed fully for dinner—rest on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he purred. This was followed by his lips softly leaving a trail of kisses along her neck. "Why don't I make it up to you?"

Barbara, despite her annoyance, couldn't help but grin. "Oh? And how would you like to do that?"

He whirled her and pressed a rough kiss to her lips. She moaned without thinking, pressing her body into his. When they parted, he chuckled.

"Why don't we work up an appetite? In fact… I was going to wait for after dinner, but this might be better. I want to try something tonight, if you're willing."

Joker moved until he was at the nightstand on the left side of his bed. Barbara's brow furrowed.

"What is it?"

She was a child of the age of the internet. She had read about a lot of things. Fire still lit her veins from their brief argument, and a slight trepidation was still fighting for dominance. Joker turned, a pair of soft, velvet ropes—in purple, of course—in his hands. Attached to each end of the rope was a leather cuff, done in acid green. Barbara's knees quaked, but she couldn't deny the heat that started right at her core and headed south.

"Nothing too much. Just this. We can add more later, if you like this. What do you say?"

She swallowed hard. "Wh-what if I don't? Like it, that is?"

"Well, we'll have a safe word in place for that. Something other than 'no' and 'stop.' What would you like to use?"

A different heat was spreading through her limbs, up to her face. She found herself fighting a nervous giggle. "Um… what about… black?"

"Excellent. Then, would you like to?"

She could feel her body responding already, her panties feeling more than a little damp. She nodded. He held his hand out for her to take, and she did. He pulled her quickly to him, their bodies colliding just seconds before his lips found hers. He had her undressed in no time and turned her so that her back was facing the end of the bed. Then, with a sly wink, he lifted her, just a bit, and tossed her. She landed somewhere among the pillows. She stared at him, eyes wide in shock, and he responded with a little chuckle.

"Be a good girl and don't move, 'kay?"

Barbara nodded, and Joker got to work mounting the ropes. Apparently, this was something he had been thinking about for a bit, since little loops of leather had been added in strategic places on the headboard. He clasped the rope within the loops until it hung above her head. She shook, and, as he gently grasped her left wrist, he bent and kissed her forehead.

"I won't hurt you, m'dear. Not unless you beg me."

He added a little wicked chuckle to the end of that statement, and Barbara was sure she was red from head to toe now. He clasped each of her wrists in each cuff, fastening them as tightly as she could stand. When he was done, he backed himself off the bed. Barbara whined a bit in protest.

He chuckled as he began the painfully slow task of removing every single item of clothing he wore. He acted as if each article of clothing was a museum piece and had to be treated as such. He laid each one out on a nearby table until, finally he was as nude as she was. His member was already at full attention, and Barbara bit her lip, remembering the pleasure that bit of him was capable of delivering. She squirmed, finding the cuffs every bit as confining as they were meant to be. There was a brief flutter of panic in her chest, followed by a moment where she admonished herself. After all, this Joker was not the criminal he once had been. She was safe. She even had a word for it.

Joker crawled back onto the bed, straddling her. She bucked her hips up toward him, silently begging him to touch her. Again, only chuckles. He ran the back of his hand down her cheek, trailing it down until it reached just above her breasts. Then, he rested both hands on his thighs.

"There's so much I want us to explore. But I'll go slow. Just the cuffs tonight. How are you doing, sweetheart?"

She nodded, a bit more whining escaping.

"Do you want to suck me, my love?"

Barbara's heart thudded hard against her chest. She was quickly forgetting how to form words. She nodded. Joker scooted forward until he was seated—only mostly—on her chest. Barbara blinked up at him. He took his time teasing her, rubbing the sensitive head of his member on her lips. She parted them, moaning. She shot out with her tongue, managing to catch only the very end.

"Good girl," he murmured.

He worked his dick into her mouth slowly, letting her gag reflex and throat get accustomed to the size. He rocked his hips, picking up speed as he went, thrusting in and out of her mouth. She moaned as best she could around him, flicking her tongue against the underside of his shaft. She could feel herself growing wet, and she felt like she was going to explode if Joker didn't touch her again soon.

"Yes," he hissed between clenched teeth.

She _needed_ his touch. Her moans and her whines were intermingling, and he never kept his dick out of her mouth long enough for her to plea for him. Finally, with a satisfying _pop_, he pulled his member free one final time, moaning deeply. He grabbed his member and stroked it with luxurious slowness right over Barbara's lips.

"So good. You deserve a reward, don't you?"

"Please," she begged.

"Oh, I like that. What do you want? Beg me for it, Babs."

"You. Please, Joker… I _need_ you."

Joker pushed himself down her body. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against her mouth. She parted her lips, inviting him inside, but he pulled the kiss down the left side of her cheek and neck, leaving affectionate little nips as he went. He stopped at her breasts, sucking the left nipple into his mouth with a force that would have been painful had she not been so desperate for contact. He pinched the right nipple in between his thumb and forefinger, and she arched into him. He continued his kissing trail down her body. He didn't bother to tease her this time. The moment his mouth was over her sex, he plunged his tongue inside of her, as deep as it would go.

She gasped against the foreign invasion, moaning wantonly as his tongue slid out and up to flick at her swollen and waiting clit.

"Yes, yes, yes," she all but wailed over and over.

Her legs shook as he worked a single digit inside of her, thrusting it with all the force he used with his actual dick. He sucked her clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the bud. She was close. So dangerously close to exploding. He added a finger to his invasion of her soaking pussy, and she was sure that this was it. He moved and curled his fingers inside of her, and Barbara was practically screaming her need to come.

"I'm so close. Please! Please, I need it," she begged again, hoping that would spur him on.

He stopped all his affections, and she was sure she was going to cry with the feeling of emptiness now consuming her still wanting and needy body. Joker stretched out the full length of his body until his face was over hers. He shoved his wicked tongue through her lips, and she could taste her own musty sweetness in the kiss. When he parted, his frozen grin was full of deviousness.

"Say it," he said.

She blinked at him. What did he want? Her safe word? But… she was fine. In fact, if she was honest, she was more than fine. It was quite the relief, she was finding, putting all the moves in someone else's hands.

"Beg me to fuck that pretty pussy," he clarified.

"Please," she answered almost instantly.

He made a _tsk_ing noise. "I want to hear you say it. Say it, Babs, and I'll fuck you hard. I cure all those itchy little aches. Beg me to fuck you."

"Please, Joker! Please," she all but cried. "Please fuck my pretty pussy! Fuck me _hard_, please!"

A loud cackle and the immediate invasion of her pussy was her response. He wasn't gentle this time, and there was no adjustment period. He rammed into her with force and kept the pace set at brutal.

It felt like heaven.

Barbara felt herself shattering around him, her pussy quivering and tightening, desperate to keep a hold on his dick. Joker moaned, a little laugh escaping, as she moaned her release. He continued slamming into her until his thrusts grew erratic, and then he followed her into bliss soon after.

He rolled beside her, sighing. Barbara was now aware of the strong, unpleasant ache in her arms.

"Um… I don't mean to ruin the moment or anything, but…" She rattled her cuffs.

Joker laughed, getting up and freeing her. "How was that?"

She rubbed her wrists. They were clearly marked by the cuffs, and a little sore, but her skin wasn't raw or broken. She smiled.

"That was… _fun_."

He returned her wicked grin. "That's my girl. Now, I don't know about you, but I think we've worked up quite the appetite."

They dressed in silence, and as the bliss that fogged her brain began to clear, she realized that they had never really finished their argument. Sure, he had apologized… but not about the spying parking garage attendant. They had just gotten a little… distracted.

Now that they were fully dressed, they moved out into the rest of the penthouse, where Chauncey was setting the table for them. Joker moved to step toward the dinner table when Barbara stopped him.

"What's wrong, m'dear?"

"I don't… I don't want to start another fight… but I don't like feeling spied upon. I want to feel trusted… Like I trust you. The guard at the parking deck… could you, maybe, say something?"

He blinked at her, then, with a soft grin, he kissed her forehead. "Of course. Now, let's eat, shall we?"

She smiled, nodding. She had to fight a big yawn, and Joker winked at her as he saw her struggle. While she didn't enjoy feeling like someone who needed to be spied upon, she had to admit that this kind of sleepy was way better than the usual Turkey Sleepiness that she usually experienced on this holiday.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

She had been serious when she had told Jason that she meant to try out for gymnastics. She had been on their high school team, had even lettered in the sport. Barbara's father had always approved of it, saying that it was "good for her reaction time." So, when she got the email that tryouts were to be held one Thursday afternoon, after most classes had ended, she asked to be excused from her work shift. The librarians were more than accommodating, saying that if it was school related, since the work program was also school related, that anything related to such was put first. They wished her luck and sent her off.

Barbara still had her old high school leotard—a white, long sleeved version with splashes of red in glittering swirls on the upper half—and was more than pleased to find that it still fit. She knew it was only a matter of months since she had last worn it, but she also knew better than anyone that a lot can happen in only a matter of months. The gym was located across the road from some of the university's dorms, and she used a tunnel that was fairly newly constructed under the road to cross. There was a fair line of people in the lobby of the gym. On the far left, near the end of the line, there was a table set up, a young woman maybe only one or two years older than Barbara seated behind it. She grinned up at Barbara as she approached, gesturing toward a clipboard.

"Fill out the info block and then get in line, please. The coach will call you all in when she's ready," she said with bright and bubbly authority.

Barbara thanked her and did as requested. The blonde girl showed her where she set her bags—behind the concession stand—as she joined the line. She reached up, straightening her high ponytail, and shuffled her feet. She did some small stretches—as some of the other girls were doing—and generally tried not to think too hard about what she was actually doing here. Tryouts always made her jittery, even though she knew she was more than good enough to be on this team. She wasn't one to brag, but she had worked hard to be as good as she was. Surely, it was okay to enjoy the fruits of one's labors once in a while?

Her phone, in the pocket of the short gym shorts she wore, sounded with the familiar text tone that indicated Jason was the one messaging her. She smiled, pulling it free. It was a message of three thumbs-up, followed by "you got this" with at least ten exclamation points and three more thumbs-up. Jason had offered to accompany her, but after the scene with the parking deck attendant—not to mention her already messed up nerves—she had decided that a little time alone was exactly what she needed. She still sort of felt like Joker's eyes were everywhere, and she hated it. She made a mental note to bring it up with him the next time she saw him. It had been about week, and she had been really tight-lipped about her personal life to her own boyfriend. She hadn't even told him about this tryout. A part of her told her that she was being crazy… while the other part was screaming and waving red flags.

Barbara was dragged out of her own whirling thoughts as the doors to the gym opened and the line of students were filed in, ordered by another member of the team to stand along the closed bleachers. Out on the floor, it had been definitely set up for a gymnastics tryout, mats, beams, bars, and all. After a few moments were people filed in and rustled about in place, a woman dressed in a red and white wind suit, the jacket unzipped to reveal a dark gray shirt underneath, moved to stand out in front of the line. She faced all of the prospective athletes, eyeing them all with a gaze as gray as her shirt, and steely in its stare. Her short auburn hair was curly to the point of bushy, and she was wore a ballcap—Barbara suspected—just to tame it.

"I'm Coach Steader," she barked, bringing all fidgeting and chatter to an immediate halt. "Here's how this is gonna go. When I call your name, you're gonna come up to me, I'm gonna tell you what I want you to do, and they you're gonna do it. Afterword, you're gonna go back out to the lobby and wait. Got it?"

Generally, people murmured their assent, and she nodded, pleased. "Good. Let's begin. In order of sign-ups… Joseph, Garret."

Barbara waited and watched as no less than twelve people went before her, performing on each piece of equipment as requested. Finally, her name was called. She approached the coach, who then told her to do a routine on the pommel horse. Barbara had to suppress a grin. The pommel horse and the floor exercises had probably been the reasons she had lettered. Schooling her features into neutrality, she nodded once. She performed the last routine she had ever done on the horse in high school and was done in minutes. She stuck her landing, and the coach scratched some notes on her clipboard. Barbara made her way out into the lobby, trying her best not to scurry.

She distracted herself by scrolling through her phone. Joker, she saw, had sent her a text informing her that he was busy tonight with book promoting. Apparently, he was doing a signing at a bookstore downtown. She texted him back her love and wished him good luck. She still refrained from mentioning that she was trying out. He responded within moments with his love and a "see you soon… I hope."

The lobby around her was filling quickly, and before long, Barbara was sure that that had to be everyone. She put her attention on the doorway into the gym proper, anxiously awaiting the appearance of Coach Steader. Finally, when the bushy-haired woman appeared, she announced, in her bark of a voice, "Listen up! When I call your name, I want you to march up those stairs and line up outside the office door. I'll call you in one by one, and you'll probably know by the end of the conversation whether you made the team or not. The rest of you, if you're name isn't called, better luck next year."

Barbara felt her stomach clench, and the coach lost no time calling out names. Barbara nearly jumped out of her own skin when she heard her own name called third. She turned, all but bolting up the stairs—which had been previously blocked by the sign-up table—after the first two called students. The office was easy enough to find, as it was the only one up there with a door—the coach's name was on a plaque on the door. After several moments, Barbara could hear a bunch of people leaving, and four more people had joined her in line, totaling in seven. She was sure if anxiety tightened the knot in her stomach any more she was going to implode on herself.

The coach stomped up the stairs, motioning for the first person in line to join her in the office as she went. She closed the door behind the student and the line moved up. Barbara resisted the urge to get out her phone, lest she appear disinterested, but she was desperate for something to do with her hands. She forced them down to her sides, grasping at the hem of her gym shorts as the first person called left, looking a touch glum.

"Next!" the coach called, and the girl in front of Barbara entered, shutting the door.

She was sure she was going to puke. She let her right hand raise to rest on her stomach, willing herself calm. The interview in front of her seemed to last longer than that of the guy that had been first in line. Finally, the girl before Barbara exited, all grins and giggles. The coach called, "Next!" and Barbara entered with a gulp she hoped wasn't audible.

She closed the door slowly behind her, and, without looking up, the coach motioned her into the chair across the desk from her.

"Barbara Gordon, is that right?" the coach asked.

"Th-that's right," she answered, sitting very literally on the edge of the seat.

The coach looked up at her, locking her steely gaze on her. She cocked her head just a little to the right, one brow arched.

"Would that be the same Barbara Gordon who is the commissioner's daughter and currently dating the Joker? The famous—or rather, infamous—Barbara Gordon?"

That knot really was closing in on "implosion" territory. Barbara nodded.

"Yes. Yeah, that's me."

"Hmm," the coach said, glancing down at the clipboard. "Well, you did great out there. Gymnastics in high school, I'm guessing?"

"I lettered, yeah."

"Huh. And what about your relationship?"

Barbara blinked, sinking back into her seat just a touch. "What about it?"

"I've seen you and him plastered all over the tabloids, on the papers… on the internet. I don't need that kind of craziness around while I'm trying to get a team trained. How do I know that zany lifestyle isn't going to follow you into my gym?"

Barbara blinked, desperately trying to keep her jaw off the floor. How was this possible? How was the fact that she was dating the Joker affecting her even here?

"I'm s-sorry. I swear, it won't…" she began, then stopped. Something inside her snapped. Sitting up a little straighter, Barbara locked eyes with the coach. "You know what? I'm not sorry. I am so damn tired of apologizing for dating who I want to date. So yes, I am dating the Joker. And no, it won't affect my time here. I'm a model student, and I love this sport. That's really all you need to know."

For a moment, the coach's expression didn't change. In her own head, Barbara was shrieking and chastising herself. On the outside, though, she kept her own face even. Finally, Coach Steader smiled. She flipped the clipboard in front of herself around, laying a pen down on it.

"Leave your email, Gordon. That way, I can email you the spring training schedule."

Barbara's eyes widened, and a bright grin broke over her. She snatched up the pen and did just that, standing and leaving. She was all grins as she heard the coach call for the next person in line. She hit the bottom of the stairs, scooping up her bags. She left the gym in her leotard and shorts, embracing the cold of the impending December, and feeling like she was on cloud nine.

She couldn't wait to tell everyone in her life that she had made the team… but, for now… this victory was just hers and hers alone.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Although Barbara had quickly gotten the opportunity to tell both her parents and Jason that she had made the team, it was another four days before she got the chance to tell Joker. Finals were right around the corner—in fact, they started the following Tuesday, but finally, on a Sunday early afternoon Joker was free enough for her to come over to share her big news. She had really insisted on telling him in person, since it was something that meant so much to her. He had sounded pleased at this and, while saddened that he couldn't free up any time due to his book tour, understood her tight-lipped stance.

So Barbara had been over the moon to get his text early that Sunday, inviting her over sometime after lunch. He had ended it with "missed you, my dear." She hated that their Thanksgiving, the last time they had really had time to see each other face to face, had been marred by an argument. But they had both been so busy that neither had had time to really make it up.

So, after informing Jim and Sarah where she was going to be, she departed for the tower penthouse. She arrived a touch earlier than Joker had asked her to—maybe by a whole twenty minutes, but, hey, she was excited to see her beau—and exited the elevator right outside his door. She lifted her fist, ready to knock, when she paused. She could hear Joker talking, and when the reply to his muffled words came, she didn't recognize the voice. She leaned forward, about to press her ear to the door to get a better sense of what Joker and his mystery guest—a man, judging by the deep boom of his replies—were saying. She was only in that position for a moment before she heard the rustle of movement on the other side. She let out a tiny _squeak_ of alarm, backing down the hall as if she were just now approaching the door.

It swung open, and Joker's voice was now clearly heard as he herded his guest out the door.

"Just remember what I said. After all, a lot of those Roman emperors were killed by their own soldiers."

"Hmph," came the response of the man now filling the frame.

Barbara had to fight hard not to react. The man was tall and broad shouldered, his thinning hair graying to be whiter in color. His face was hard, his lips pulled into a frown, and he held his shoulders and thick neck stiffly in place as his dark eyes fell upon Barbara. From around him, Joker peeked his head.

"Babsy, dearest, you're early," he said.

"Miss Gordon, isn't it?" Joker's guest said, extending a thick hand to shake.

Barbara was amazed that her hand was as steady as it was when she extended her own. After all, she recognized this man. He was Carmine Falcone, a known underworld Boss. _The_ underworld crime boss if talk was to be believed—which her dad strongly suspected it was. They called him the Roman, she remembered, because of his hold over the other bosses in the city—his hold on crime itself. The papers likened him to a Roman emperor presiding over his empire. His hand dwarfed hers, and he shook it once before she pulled hers back.

"I've heard a lot about you. The commissioner's daughter, aren't you?" Falcone asked, a deep rumbling chuckle in his chest.

"Now, now. No flirting," Joker chuckled.

The smile the mob boss flashed the clown was the very definition of "forced." The one he offered Barbara was a little less strained… but only a little.

"Pleasure to have met you. If you'll excuse my exit, I really must be going."

With that, Falcone swept past her, catching the elevator down a few moments later. Joker pulled Barbara inside, shutting the door behind her. He pressed her up against it, holding his entire body against hers. He kissed her, and Barbara would have melted into such a deep, passionate embrace with her previously MIA boyfriend… had it not been for the crime lord that had just left.

"I missed you," Joker breathed when he finally broke their kiss.

She offered him up a small smile. "I missed you too. I've been waiting for days to tell you my good news, but…"

Joker leaned back, brow arched. "But?"

Barbara jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Was that… was that Carmine Falcone?"

Joker seemed to be impressed. He slipped his arm about her shoulder, leading her into the sunken living room. They sat together on the plush sofa as he chuckled.

"Someone pays attention when Daddy talks, doesn't she? Yes, m'dear, that was indeed Falcone."

It was something that Barbara had put little to no thought into, but now Robin's impromptu meeting in the ladies' room of that club came screaming back to her. Not to mention her father's unwavering stance that Joker was still up to no good. She stared at him.

"What was he doing here?"

"My, my… aren't we curious?"

"He makes me… nervous."

"Aww, poor Babsy," Joker said, pulling her close in next to him. "I'll protect you. You know that, right?"

She smiled up at him. "I-I know. I just… you know… Ugh, my dad gets in my head sometimes."

Joker let out one of his little, restrained laughs. "Well, if it will put your busy mind at ease, Falcone was angry with me because of how I depicted him in my upcoming book. I had sent him an ARC—an advanced reading copy, you know. He was coming here to ask me to change what I had said."

The flip-floping in Barbara's stomach seemed to ease just a touch. That made sense, didn't it? After all, Joker had never denied his past crimes to her, or to anyone.

"Are you going to switch it? What you wrote?"

Joker puffed up his chest, taking on a look of mock indignation. "And sacrifice my artistic integrity? Never!"

Barbara chuckled. "Are you worried about how he'll take that?"

He playfully beeped her nose. "I don't scare that easy, pooh. Now, I've been on pins and needles for days. What is this wonderful news of yours?"

She blinked. She had been so thrown by Falcone's appearance that she had almost forgotten it herself. She grinned, grabbing both his hands in hers.

"I made the gymnastics team at my university! I used to be on my high school's team, and I loved it… and I was so happy to make it! It'll look great on a resumé, and I really _did_ loved doing it."

Joker's grin widened even more. "Not to mention other areas that will be helpful in."

He glanced suggestively at the bedroom, and Barbara elbowed him just as playfully. He chuckled and stood.

"I'm happy for you, Babs. This calls for a toast," he said, exiting the living room for the bar. When he returned, he had a bottle of champagne and a two flute glasses.

He popped the cork and filled both flutes. Barbara stared questioningly at him when he handed her one.

"I know, I know. I keep breaking the law with this… but once in a while will be okay. Now, to my dearest Babsy… Can't wait to watch you 'flip out.'"

She giggled as they clinked their glasses together. She sipped slowly at hers. It wasn't the first drop of alcohol she had ever had, but it was the first sip of champagne. It was a touch sweeter than she had imagined, and she liked the way the bubbles tickled her as she drank. She was more than halfway through her glass when she finally set it down on the table.

She was immediately upended by Joker, who loomed over her.

"I have other ideas for celebrating, if you're game," he whispered into her ear.

She felt instantly, pleasantly, warm. She made a low purr of "hmm" as she grinned up at him.

"Well, I mean, I supposed I haven't properly congratulated you on your book," she answered back.

His eyes flashed with a look that was all too familiar to her by now. He leaned forward, peppering kisses along her jaw and down her neck. Her face out of sight, she lightly bit her lip—more in worry than in pleasure. The mention of his book brought the scene of her arrival back to the forefront of her mind.

"Tell me about your book, Joker," she said, letting out a little moan as he now left a trail of kisses along her collarbone.

"It's an autobiography of sorts. A tell-all like this whole city craves from me… oh, my wonderful girl… what do _you_ crave from me?"

"Answers" was her immediate thought. She was at war with herself. Part of her wanted to let it go, just enjoy his touch—which was drifting ever lower, making her hips buck in response. But the other part… she sighed.

"Tell me all about it," she moaned, desperately trying to balance both halves of herself.

Joker chuckled. "You haven't answered my question yet."

"I crave you," she answered, and it was the truth in every sense.

Another low laugh. "How do you want me? Do you want to be tied to the bed again? Or… are you ready for something new? I have some lovely things all ready and waiting to try on you… all you have to do is say when."

His hand was under her sweater, and though she could feel herself growing wet with anticipation… her mind wouldn't let her go.

"How did you know Falcone? You mention it in that book of yours, don't you?"

He paused, and, admittedly, it was an odd place for the pillow talk to go. After a moment, he resumed his hands slow exploration under her sweater. He wormed one up to give a playful squeeze of her right breast.

"That would be a bit spoiler-y, don't you think, dearest?"

He still had that playful tone in his voice, and Barbara felt his hands move to the zipper on the front of her jeans. She bit her lip again, knowing that she might end up regretting her next course of action.

"But, did you guys, like, commit crimes together?"

"Uh-uh. You'll just have to read my book," he said, slowly pulling down the fly of her jeans.

"What if I want to hear it from you? Did you work for Falcone? Or was it the other way around?"

At this, Joker stopped, sitting up. His eyes were narrowed in a glare, and Barbara could see him clenching his teeth.

"Am I about to fuck my girlfriend or my lawyer?"

Barbara's eyes were wide. "I-I'm sorry. I just—"

But Joker was on his feet now, pouring another glass of champagne. "Ah, yes. I understand. I was about to fuck the commissioner, wasn't it?"

Barbara righted herself, pulling her clothes quickly back into place. "I'm sorry, okay? You're right. I should have let it go. I just… You've repented for your crimes… had a reason for them. Falcone hasn't. He makes me nervous, having been here."

Joker glared over his shoulder at her. "You're _mine_, Babs. _Mine_. Falcone wouldn't dare touch you. Not if he knows what's good for him."

This time, Barbara did let it go. She didn't explain that it wasn't quite Falcone, just what Falcone represented, being here in Joker's penthouse that worried her. And she especially didn't mention how the way he had just growled the word "mine" at her made her feel like she was playing with fire.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

She stood, ready to try and entice him back into a better mode, when her cell phone began to ring. She pulled it from her pocket, seeing her Dad's name on the screen. She answered, knowing that he was supposed to be at work. And her father never ever called from work if it wasn't serious.

"Dad? What is it? Are you okay?"

A sniffle. That was the first response. It was clearly her Dad, but it was clear that it was her Dad, _crying_.

"Dad?"

Joker turned, his frozen smile flipped upside down.

"Barbara, it's Sarah. I'm at Gotham General."

Barbara's eyes widened. "Is she okay? What's going on?"

"Oh, Barbara… Sarah's miscarried. "

"I'll be right there," she said before ending the call.

She turned, tears in her eyes and her gut feeling like it had been cut open. Joker arched a brow at her.

"I'm so sorry," she said, standing on tiptoe to plant a chaste kiss on his ruby lips. "But… something's happened. I have to go. Can I… Can I call you later?"

"Of course, my dear. Go. Go," he said, waving her toward the door.

Barbara lost no more time, charging out of the penthouse. She held her tears in until the elevator doors closed. Then, she let them flow freely, drying them only when she was getting into her car.

She had no idea how many traffic laws she broke in getting from Joker's penthouse to Gotham General, but she had no regrets. She burst through the doors that led to the ground-floor emergency room and talked to the first person behind glass she could find. She gave her name, and told the nurse—or administrator, whatever this woman in scrubs was—who it was she was looking for. She was then informed that Sarah and Jim were in the Emergency room, and the nurses and such had been told to let Barbara through once she arrived. They buzzed her through, telling her which little room her father and stepmother were waiting for her in. Barbara zoomed inside with a muttered word of thanks, and all but ran to the room. She emerged inside of it with little thought to privacy, to find her father sitting on a stool, holding Sarah's hand from where she lay on the bed. Her eyes were red rimmed, and her make-up smudged in the way that only crying can do. Barbara let her own tears have their freedom once more, feeling big fat drops rolling down her cheeks.

Jim wheeled back on his stool as she rushed to Sarah's side, giving the woman a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry. I know… I know I didn't handle the news the best… but I never, ever wanted this. I'm so sorry!"

"Oh… oh, dear," Sarah said, sniffing along with Barbara and hugging her back just as fiercely. "I know that. I know. I know you'd never wish something so horrible."

The two women held tight for a while, nothing but quiet sobs and sniffles breaking the silence. Finally, Sarah let Barbara go, and she turned to her father.

"What happened?" she asked.

Jim, his own eyes bloodshot from tears, nodded toward the door of the room. "Let's let Sarah have a moment to rest, okay?"

Sarah, for her part, was resting with a hand across her stomach, her eyes heavy lidded. Barbara nodded and followed her dad out of the room. They stopped in the hall just outside, hugging the wall as to not be in the way. She gave him a quick, hard hug before backing up and asking her question again. Jim shook his head.

"Some thugs made a scene at the precinct. They were being brought in for questioning, and they started to resist. There was a scuffle… and they ended up throwing Sarah to the floor… hard."

Jim sniffed, hard, and Barbara knew the signs of her father trying _not_ to cry. She frowned, shaking her head. After a moment, when Jim felt he could trust himself again, he turned back to his daughter with a bit of snarl on his lip.

"I know who they were. We've arrested them before. I should've—"

"Ssh, Dad, no…" Barbara said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Dad, you can't predict the future. You didn't know."

"Barbara," he said, his voice breaking.

"You don't have to… you don't have to continue," she said, trying her best to bring her father some kind of comfort.

"It was Falcone's thugs. His street-level dealers. Those… those SOBs grabbed her. There was no reason, Barbara… no reason for them to act like that. But they did. They grabbed her and slammed her into the floor."

Tears were starting to fall from Jim's eyes, and he turned away. Barbara, meanwhile, felt like her heart had made an all-stop. _Falcone's thugs_… She had only told Joker how she felt about the baby, or rather how she felt about her Dad and Sarah getting to have a baby. Then, Falcone is at the Penthouse just moments before this? Was it all a coincidence? Was her father and public opinion finally getting into her head?

Or was it just that it was right in front of her this whole time?

She felt ill. She leaned a shoulder against the cool, hard wall to her left, and was only partially aware that someone else had now joined them.

"Commissioner Gordon?"

Both Jim and Barbara snapped their heads around to see that a doctor had arrived. Jim nodded at him, and they both moved inside the room. Barbara muttered something about giving them space and being right outside. Once the door was shut, she all but ran for the nearest restroom.

It was a single visitor restroom, which she loved as she locked the door behind her. She ran to the sink, gripping both sides of its white surface, sobbing down into it. She had to be wrong. She had been stalwart in being Joker's defender. He had changed.

_But_… said a small voice in the back of her mind. She turned on the water, splashing a bit on her face. When she looked up, her face streaming with more than tears, she was resolute. She pulled her purse around and dug around inside of it. Finally, she found exactly what she was searching for… a business card, a little crumpled from spending weeks inside her purse. It was solid black and the phone number upon it was still easily readable. She pulled her phone free and dialed. Unsurprisingly, it went straight to voicemail.

"This is Barbara Gordon. I-I want to talk. I'm free at the end of the week, on Friday. My work ends at four that afternoon, at the Gotham University Library."

She disconnected the call, just staring as the number flashed briefly and vanished from the screen. She pulled the cell close, holding it against her chest. She had done it. She had contacted one of the last people she should contact if she wanted to keep things the way they had been with Joker. But she had to know. And Joker's own worst enemy, the Batman, was the only way she was going to get any answers.

Now, she could only wait and do what she could to comfort Sarah.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Finals were done and over. And, as of four o'clock that afternoon, so was Barbara's last shift at the library that semester. She had her classes and work schedule all lined up for January and was surprised to find Jason waiting for her outside when she left. She glanced at her phone, both to check the time and to see if she had any calls.

No calls. She had never received a reply from Batman, Robin, or whoever it was that was supposed to own that number. She blinked at her friend, who had a questioning brow arched high.

"Disappointed to see me?" he asked.

Barbara smiled. "Never. I just didn't know you were coming to walk me all the way to my car."

Jason shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I have an ulterior motive."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to compare classes, see if we happened to share the same English Comp II."

Barbara chuckled. "Nine in the morning, with Ms. Walter?"

Jason lit up, his grin stretching wide. "Yeah! Oh, thank God. I was really worried that I was going to flunk it if you weren't there to tutor me."

"Jason, there are other tutors available at this school."

Jason playfully nudged her with his elbow. "Yeah, but none of them get my style like you do."

"You mean your whole, leave-it-to-the-last-minute thing?"

"Yeah!"

Barbara shook her head, and she found herself immensely grateful for the surprise company. To be honest, she would have otherwise spent this short walk to her car tense and worried that the Batman would jump out at her at any moment. Or, worse, that Joker had somehow found out about her maybe-meeting with the Dark Knight. But as they approached her car, parked in one of the front lots of the campus, Jason was laughing and shaking his head. It was nice to be normal for once.

"Hey, wanna hang for a bit? I know you've got no homework, so don't even think about using that excuse. A cup of coffee, my treat," Jason offered.

Barbara glanced about the parking lot. It was all but deserted, which was something only seen at around this time of day. Only a few student cars and several teacher cars remained in the two lots—which were separated by a circular drive. She almost accepted Jason's offer. It had been a difficult week, caring for Sarah and spending time with Joker when she was so suspicious of his actions. It felt awful. She had been so desperate to make sure that Joker didn't think anything was amiss that she did everything as normal.

She loved him. It made everything about this harder. They had yet to say these words to one another. She wasn't even sure if he felt the same way. But they had been together now for about four months, and she could no longer deny the depth of her feelings.

"Babs?" Jason asked, waving a hand in front of her face. "Everything okay?"

She gave her head a tiny shake. "Yeah. Yeah, it's… well, as to be expected."

Jason's mouth pulled downward, and he nodded knowingly. "Yeah, I… I heard. How is she, your stepmom?"

"Healing. Sad. Again, as expected. I think… I think it hurts us all more knowing that it was an outside force instead of just… nature, you know what I mean?"

Which, in a way, was why she had contacted Batman. She had to know. She had to know the extent of Joker's involvement. Or, maybe—dare she even think, hopefully—Sarah had been targeted by Falcone because of whatever it was Joker had written of him in his book. But she had to have certainty.

Jason nodded. "I can imagine. Sure you don't want that coffee?"

Barbara glanced over her shoulder at her car, which was when she saw it. Tucked into one of her windshield wipers was a tiny slip of paper, folded so that whatever note it contained was hidden to the world. She turned back to her friend, offering him a small smile.

"Sorry. Can't. I, uh, have to finish some Christmas shopping. But we can meet tomorrow, if that's all right?"

Jason grinned, and maybe it was just the mindset Barbara was in, but he looked a touch sad. His voice, however, held nothing of that.

"Cool. Text me. See you 'round, Babs."

She gave a small wave, turned, and discreetly swiped the paper from the windshield. She heard Jason rev his cycle and zoom off just as she got inside her car. Once inside—started with the heater turned all the way up—she opened it. The not was written in scratchy but neat handwriting and held only a single line of instruction.

_Top of parking deck. ASAP._

It was rather ingenious when she thought about it. Past four, the top of the deck was empty. People hated parking up there, so many avoided it, but for those who had had to use it as a last resort were always those gone as soon as possible from campus. Barbara had learned of that fact one day when she was looking for a good place to do some walking and one of her co-workers had mentioned it.

She pulled out of the parking lot and made her way to the deck, driving round and around until she reached the top. Being as it was now winter, the sun was already making its slow trek down, casting long shadows upon the painted concrete ground. She parked, hesitating just a moment, before a roaring engine cause her to jump.

She looked out of her window to see the Batmobile pull into an empty spot three spaces down from her. Her hand moved to the door handle, gripping it without pulling. Then, the hood of the sleek, black vehicle slid back, and Batman and Robin themselves exited. Barbara swallowed hard. No going back now. She exited her car.

"Miss Gordon… you said you wanted to talk," Batman said.

His voice was deep, like the sound Barbara imagined his car must make while idling. Robin—whom she had met briefly before—leaned against the passenger side of the car, looking horribly unimpressed with the current situation. She swallowed one more time and nodded.

"I don't have any hard evidence… just a suspicion. But… I think… I think Joker may have had Falcone put his thugs up to hurting my stepmother… to cause her miscarriage."

At this, Robin leaned up. "What makes you think that he would do that?"

A lump formed in Barbara's throat as the words she had been trying to deny even thinking rose up. "I-I… I think he… I think he did it for me."

At this, Batman crossed his arms, and Barbara was trying hard not to feel like a child who was getting a scolding.

"Explain," the Dark Knight ordered.

"I didn't handle the news well, that Sarah was pregnant. I think… Oh, I don't know what he thought, but I think, in some way, he thought her losing the baby would make me feel better."

"Joker cares for nothing and no one but himself," Batman said.

At this, Barbara scowled. "That's not true. He loves me. He does. He loves me."

"And yet, here you are, on this deck, asking us for help in… what? Spying on him? Proving his involvement in causing Essen's miscarriage? What kind of love is that?"

Barbara had to fight hard not to scream at him. After all, he had a point. She _had_ asked them here. But… if memory served her right…

"You asked me for help first," she snapped. She gestured to Robin, adding, "At the nightclub, several months ago. That's how I got your card. So yeah… maybe I'm not being the best girlfriend right now. Maybe I'm wrong. God in heaven, I hope I'm wrong. But I want to know for sure. I can't… I can't go on thinking things like the ones I'm thinking. I just want conclusive evidence."

A light breeze blew up and over the walls of the deck, causing Barbara to pull her coat tighter about herself. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Robin glanced over at Batman and shrugged. Barbara had no idea what that move could possibly mean for the two partners, but it ended with Batman turning back to her.

"You're right. You see, we still believe your boyfriend is running his criminal empire. Just more carefully than before. So let's make a deal. We'll investigate whether or not Joker had a hand in hurting your stepmother… and you find out whether or not he's still the criminal we think he is."

"H-How do you want me to find evidence?" she asked.

"We'll put a recording device on your phone. Just keep it with you at all times, maybe even forget it at his penthouse now and again. It'll become evident in time whether we're right or not. As for your stepmother… we'll work our usual angles for that."

"Deal?" Robin put in.

Barbara fished in her purse, withdrawing her phone. "Deal."

She passed it to Batman, muttering, "I'm a horrible person."

"You're cautious," Batman said, taking the phone and opening the back. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"I just keep telling myself, if I can just get the answer to this one thing, then it'll be all right. We can move on, and it'll be like nothing ever happened."

Batman reached down to his utility belt, coming back up with something that was too small for Barbara to see. He pressed the tip of his gloved index finger to the innards of her phone, replaced the back, and handed it to her.

"Be safe, Miss Gordon. We'll be in touch."

With that, the Dark Knight and the Boy (more like Young Man) Wonder were back in the Batmobile. It roared to life, and the tires squealed and left burnt rubber as they peeled out of the parking deck. Barbara glanced down at her phone, suddenly feeling like it weighed as heavy as a boulder.

What kind of person was she, that she would do this to her own boyfriend? She shook her head, shoving the phone back into her purse as she got into her car. She would stick with Batman's assessment of her. She was a cautious person. That was all. Just… cautious.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Barbara awoke on Christmas morning shaking so badly that she practically vibrated right out of bed. Sure, she was excited that it was Christmas. She always was, even though she was no longer a child. She held fast to the belief that the magic of Christmas was for everyone. But that wasn't really the source of her shakes.

A week previous, she had made a daring proposition to her father. She had asked if Joker could attend Christmas dinner. Jim had purpled and swollen up with the effort of keeping his tirade to himself. Thankfully, Sarah—healed in body, but still carrying a veil of sadness over her being from her recent loss—had gently placed a hand on her husband's arm. He had looked at her, silently pleading with her not to say what he had, somehow, known she was going to say.

"Jim… it's Christmas."

There had still been a bit of fire stoking in his eye, but he gave a curt nod to Barbara. It was followed by the instruction that he was to arrive at dinner, not in the morning. The opening of presents was just for them. Barbara had readily agreed.

Now, bathed and dressed after having opened gifts and enjoying a small, simple lunch, she was in the kitchen aiding Sarah with the cooking. The meal was almost done, only a few minutes left for some of the sides, when the doorbell sounded. Jim entered the kitchen, planting himself like a guard dog next to his wife.

"I'm not answering it," he grumbled.

Barbara wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and shook her head. "I've got it."

She was just over the threshold of the room when she heard Sarah muttered, "Be _nice_, Jim."

She didn't wait for her father's response. Instead, she paused on just the other side of the front door, running her hands down the front of the red, black, and yellow plaid skirt she had chosen to wear over a pair of thin black leggings. She opened the door and was greeted by Joker's familiar grin and pale complexion. Suddenly, all the anxiety and suspicion she had had for him over the last several days—of which her spying had yielded nothing—melted away, if only for a moment. Sarah had been right. It was Christmas, a time to be a little extra nice.

"Merry Christmas, baby," he said as she stood on tiptoe to wrap her arms about his neck.

He held a couple of small bouquets of flowers and a bottle of wine, which he held out to his side to accommodate Barbara's hug. She planted a quick kiss to his ruby lips.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered. "I have a present for you, a little later."

Joker quirked an eyebrow at her. "I look forward to that. And I have yours later today as well."

She arched a questioning brow at him, but instead of asking—because she knew she would get nothing but teasing—she let him go and invited him inside. She shut the door and turned in time to see Jim and Sarah emerge from the kitchen. Joker fixed him with his most charming face, even bowing a little to the couple.

"I am very honored to have received your invitation, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon. I've come with gifts."

Jim strode forth, making it plain that whatever Joker was handing over was going to go through him first. Barbara rolled her eyes, and Joker did everyone a courtesy by pretending that he didn't notice this blatantly aggressive move. He passed Jim one of the bouquets—which was white poinsettias and roses—and the bottle of wine. Jim eyed the label and the cork before grunting out something that Barbara supposed was a thank you. Then, Joker turned and gifted Barbara with the other bouquet.

"_Not_ your gift," he whispered to her, and she giggled.

Sarah, after a deep breath, announced that dinner was ready. The four of them moved into the kitchen, with Barbara taking Joker's coat and hat and hanging it on the standing coat rack by the front door. They arranged the food much like they had on Thanksgiving, again forming an assembly line to fill their plates. Once they had done so, everyone took a seat at the table, and grace was said. It was rather surreal, sitting at the dinner table, saying grace with her father, the police commissioner, across from her, and her boyfriend, former public enemy number one, on her left. As everyone began to eat, the only sound filling the room was that of forks clattering against plates and some light chewing. After a few more moments of this, Barbara decided that she couldn't take it any longer. She turned to Joker, grinning.

"I'm glad that you're here," she said, resting a hand affectionately on his arm.

He flashed his ever-present grin back at her, his green eyes twinkling. "As am I."

Sarah's head was fixated in a downward position, but Barbara could just see past the veil of her hair that her stepmother's eyes were locked onto Jim, who was glaring down at his food. Barbara refused to acknowledge this and found herself determined to get a conversation going.

"So, how are book sales going?" she asked.

Jim's hand clenched around his knife. Joker's eyes were only on her.

"Oh, it's apparently on everyone's Christmas wish list because sales are phenomenal. I can't wait to see what the first royalty check looks like. According to my agent, it's gonna be a whopper, and that's just her taking a guess."

He followed that with a little chuckle.

"That's great. I'm very happy for you."

"Yeah, _real_ great," Jim muttered.

There was the sound of a chair scraping just ever so slightly, and Jim grunted. If she had to guess, Sarah had kicked his shin. At this, Jim put his fork down, forcing a pleasant smile to his face.

"So, forgive me, but I haven't had a chance to read it. What exactly did you write about?" he asked.

"It's an autobiography. You know, a tawdry tell-all," Joker replied, winking at Barbara.

Barbara put every fiber of being into not blushing. Jim, meanwhile, seemed not to have noticed. Instead, with deliberate, measured moments, he picked back up his fork. Methodically, while staring down at his plate, he cut into a piece of ham. Still, without looking back up at him, he said, "Uh-huh. So, you tell it _all_, do you? Every little bit?"

Her stomach tightened. "Dad," she said.

"It's all right, m'dear," Joker said, solemnly setting down his silverware. "Your poor ol' Dad has seen some… well, some pretty rough stuff done by yours truly. I won't deny it. I… Well, frankly, I'm ashamed. Truth be told, I almost called to simply ask Barbara to come by the penthouse later. But no, I said to myself, no. It's important to Babs that we're all able to be in the same room and be civil. So, if you'd like to know what I wrote about in my book, Commissioner, ask away. I won't flinch, and I'll be honest."

While still looking like he could explode any minute, Jim also looked a touch deflated. Sarah, ever the mediator, offered a small smile to the former Clown Prince.

"You're not here for an interrogation. Regardless of how that sounded. It's Christmas. We're here to have dinner and be with family. I'm not meaning to pry, but trying to shift gears on subjects… did you get Barbara a gift?"

Joker laughed his restrained laugh. "I did. Actually… I thought it would be nice if we took our first trip together. I rented a cabin out in the more scenic parts of the state. Only be gone about a week, back well before classes start."

Jim opened his mouth, undoubtedly, to protest, when Sarah rest a hand on his. "That sounds lovely. When would you two leave?"

At this, Joker looked a touch sheepish. It was new look for him, and it made Barbara want to laugh. He turned to her, an eyebrow quirked. "Well, later tonight, if that's okay."

Her eyes went wide, as well as everyone else's at the table. Jim, once more, started to protest. And, yet again, Sarah cut her husband off.

"Barbara is an adult," she said, more to Jim than to anyone else. Then she added, speaking to Barbara, "If you want to accept his gift, that's up to you."

Barbara blinked, feeling like she had just spun in circles. That small, suspicious voice was back in her head, whispering doubts. Then again, when she looked over at him, she couldn't help but smile. Maybe… maybe a little time away from the rat race was what she needed.

"After dessert?" she said. "And I'd have to pack."

"Of course," Joker answered.

Dinner flew by after that, and Barbara rushed to pack for a sudden week-long vacation with her boyfriend. She really didn't like the idea of keeping Joker alone with her parents for too long, so she packed faster than she ever had in her life. The last item she grabbed was the gift she had gotten for the Joker—well, the one she knew she couldn't let him open in front of her parents. She would grab the family-safe gift that was still under the tree on the way out the door. Double checking her bags—she had managed to pack a whole week's worth of items into just two dufflebags—she made her way out to the living room.

Jim and Sarah stood near to the kitchen, while Joker had moved closer to the living room. Jim's arms were crossed over his chest.

"You're taking your phone, right?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, rolling her eyes and not caring that he saw.

"You should go in your car."

He stared pointedly at Joker, who flashed a good-natured grin at the patriarch.

"I promise that Barbara will be in safe hands. Besides, I already have Chauncey outside waiting on us."

"I'll be fine," she said, hugging both her dad and Sarah. "See you in a week!"

They were out the door—her grabbing the other gift as she went—and in the limo and pulling away in moments. The partition was up, and Joker flashed her a devious grin.

"The trip was part one of your gift. You'll get the other when we get there."

"Okay," Barbara said cautiously. "Do you want your gifts?"

He clapped his hands gleefully. "Yes, I do. Gimme, gimme!"

She passed him the safer one first. He tore at the paper to reveal a long, slender black box. Lifting the lid of it, he found a quill and an ink pot inside.

"You know… since you're a writer now," she said.

"Oh, Babsy… I love it."

She smiled, holding up a single finger. "I've got one more for you. This one I couldn't let you open in front of Dad and Sarah."

"Oooh…"

She handed him the box, laughing as he seemed to tear into this one like he was a beast. Once he saw the contents inside, he arched a brow. He reached down and lifted up a purple, lacy piece of lingerie that looked like it was little more than decoration for a body, let alone sleepwear.

"I hate to sound ungrateful, m'dear, but I do believe you've gotten my size wrong."

Barbara laughed, shaking her head. She snatched the piece out of his hands, letting it dangle off her index finger.

"It's not fitted to you. I thought you might enjoy unwrapping _one_ more thing tonight. Plus, I paid a little extra to have something added to it."

She held the strap that would go over her left shoulder up for inspection where, embroidered on the fabric in acid green thread was the letter J. Joker suddenly stared at the piece like he was a starving man at a feast.

"You little minx…" he muttered, his voice guttural in a way that made her squirm. "Seems we were of like minds, once again."

She shot him a questioning glance. "How so?"

He chuckled low in his throat. "Wait till we get to the cabin. You'll have to see it to believe it."

Barbara felt the need to squirm again, and she was sure that her underwear was starting to feel a little damp. This was going to be the most fun she had had on Christmas in a long time.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

It was around eight at night when they arrived. Joker left Chauncey with the orders to unload their items and then to make a run into town—there was a small community a few miles back—and get some supplies. Once the chauffeur/jack of all trades, was gone, Joker turned to Barbara, grinning devilishly.

"Alone at last," he said.

"Should I get changed?" she asked, still holding the lacy lingerie.

"Do. And I'll get my other present ready for you."

Barbara ducked into the bathroom that was attached to the cabin's large bedroom—the only bedroom—and quickly slipped into the purple, lacy thing. It was cut like a one-piece bathing suit, but with a deep V that cut down to her just above her navel. Her back was barely covered at all, with only a mass of lace in the middle and small of her back, and the bottom cut into a thong. She fixed her hair as best she could, running her fingers through her red locks. Finally, making sure that the strap that bore the green J was straight, she grinned.

"I'm ready," she called.

"Come on out and play, sweetheart," Joker answered.

She exited the bathroom, ignoring the shiver that was dancing along her spine. It was both chilly in the previously uninhabited cabin and in anticipation of what the Joker had planned. She stopped before she even reached the bed, her jaw dropping.

Joker was in nothing but his boxers—a purple silk that perfectly matched her lingerie. And while that image was enough to make her want him, that wasn't what stopped her. Leather cuffs that were arranged on a chain in a small X pattern was on the bed, along with a ball gag, a long black feather, and what looked like riding crop. Barbara's legs shook, and she wasn't sure if it was for good or for ill. Joker moved to the edge of the bed.

"Come here," he ordered.

Her feet obeyed before her mind could. He chuckled, pulling her close.

"I—" she began, but stopped, unsure of what she wanted to say.

He pressed a finger to her lips, gently shushing her. "Now, now, dearest. We'll go slow. And you have your safe word, yes? I promise, I'll stop if you don't like it, okay?"

Her eyes rested on the gag, her brow furrowed. His lips pulled down into a frown.

"Talk me through what's troubling you," he said.

"The gag… what if… what if I can't breathe? Or if I want to kiss you?"

He laughed, quickly quashing it down into more chuckles. "I promise, you'll get to kiss me a whole bunch this week. But part of the fun is being denied stuff you want to do. Do you trust me?"

That was a loaded question, and it sent a poisonous feeling of guilt spiraling about her system. In the end, she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do."

After all, he had never hurt her. He grabbed her chin. "That's my girl. Now, step back. Let me get a nice, long look at you."

She obeyed, stepping just out of his reach. He stuck a finger in the air, twirling it to let her know that he wanted her to turn. She did, pausing just a moment when her backside was facing him to let him fully appreciate the outfit. When she was facing him again, he had that feral, hungry look in his eye.

"On the bed," he ordered.

She was standing on shaking limbs, so she was grateful to obey. She clambered up to the center of the queen-sized mattress, sitting upon it as she normally would. Joker _tsk_ed his disapproval. "On your knees."

She corrected herself. Joker grinned approvingly at her. He picked up the ball gag and climbed onto the bed behind her. Gently, he lifted her hair and placed the gag in her mouth, fastening it behind her head. Barbara took some experimental deep breaths, finding that she could, in fact, breathe just fine. Joker placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning his face around hers.

"Okay?"

She nodded. He kissed her cheek. "Good."

A moment later, he pulled her hands to her front, placing each wrist in a cuff. Then, he slipped his hands under her knees, gently pulling her ankles up closer to her center. He fastened them inside the remaining two cuffs. Thank God, she was gymnast. Otherwise, she would have immediately lost balance and tumbled off the bed. Her abs were tense with the effort to remain upright. Joker ran his hands up her body, pausing on the muscles in question.

"Poor dear. Not to worry. Let me help you to your knees," he said.

It took a lot of leaning on him—and she relished the feeling of his pale skin on her own—but they maneuvered her until she was on her hands and knees. He petted the small of her back, chuckling.

"You're being so good for me. I have another surprise for you, dear, but I didn't want you to worry. You _do_ still trust me, don't you?"

The ball gag in her mouth was made of some kind of rubber or silicone, and instead of drying out her mouth—as maybe a cloth one would have done—it was making her salivate. She fought hard to keep from drooling, working also to keep breathing normally around it. She nodded, her nerves replacing any guilt she might have felt at the question. She reasoned that, in this, she did trust him. He had never forced himself on her. He had even asked her before he had done anything to her—including taking her virginity. She was safe with him—especially in the bedroom.

"Excellent, my love. Now, wait a tick, and I'll explain the game to you," he said, and she felt the mattress move as he got off of it.

Her cheeks warmed. "My love." He had never used that term before. He had never said anything about love. Barbara desperately wanted to say those words to him—to tell him that she loved him too—but the damn ball gag kept that all inside. She thought that maybe she ought to make some sort of noise, maybe to get him to undo it… but then she remembered what he had said earlier. Being denied was part of the fun. That sounded stupid to her, but she would see where this went.

Joker was back on the bed, and she felt his hand on her rear. She leaned into it, and he chuckled low.

"Ooh, eager, are we? Very well. Here's how we'll start. I'm going to spank you. Just a few times. Five, to be exact. And we'll see how you like that. If you do, then I'll spank you five more times, a little harder. If you like _that_, then we'll move on to the riding crop. I'll do _that_ five times. And then, if you like that, the feather will come into play. Understand?"

Her legs quaked. She had heard about this. She was a child of the internet age. Of course she had heard of spanking in a sexual sense. But she had never really given much thought to it for herself.

"Babs? Are we still good to go, m'dear?"

She nodded. He had worked intervals into this experiment, hadn't he? He would stop if she didn't like something. He would.

"Here we go."

He landed one sound _smack_ right on her right buttock. She jumped a little at the impact, but it generally didn't hurt. It was more the shock of the sound. She had taken harder falls in gymnastics. He did the second one, and she was proud that she didn't jump that time. Then came the third, and something interesting was stirring inside of her. After the fourth one, he let his hand linger against her cheek, the warmed flesh tingling with the foreign sensation in a way that wasn't unpleasant. Finally, on the fifth one, she realized that she was getting a little wet.

She expected him to ask her, straight out, if she had liked it. Instead, he moved the thong of her lingerie to the side and slid one of his fingers along her slit. She shivered into his touch, and he gave a little moan.

"Can I assume that you enjoyed that?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Next round, pet."

He went faster and, as promised, harder. The five smacks hit a in quick and hurried succession, and Barbara could almost feel the heat her abused flesh must have been giving off. But it still wasn't the hardest she had ever taken a hit before, and it only made her dampness grow. At the end of the five, she was moaning hard against her gag, rocking on her hands as knees as much as she could without moving too far away from Joker.

"Riding crop?"

She nodded.

"What a good girl… all right. Five more, my love."

She loved the way that sounded, and she could feel some of her arousal starting to escape her folds. He smacked her once with the riding crop, and the shock and sting of it cause her entire spine to stiffen. She whimpered. Joker gently shushed her, saying, "Four more."

He only gave her a few seconds in between hits with the crop, and by the fifth hit, she was accustomed to the sting—finding it not to be as bad as she initially thought. She was still wet for him, still wanted him inside of her. She moaned with the mere thought of him fucking her, his hands on her. God, she wanted nothing more.

"I'm going to play a bit now. But don't worry, my lovely girl. I promise you'll love it."

She nodded, shoving her backside toward him. She wanted him to touch her so badly she could taste it—even around the plastic-y taste of the gag. As if he were reading her thoughts, his arm reached around and grasped her right breast, kneading it for a moment before pinching the nipple. She moaned and bucked. She wanted to touch him, to roll over and pull him down on top of her—but these damn cuffs prevented that very thing.

He pulled his hand away, and before she could protest, she felt the sting of the riding crop on her left buttock. She stiffened again, and he followed with two more hits—hard hits. She jumped when the next thing touched her, surprised by its gentleness. She realized that this had to be the feather, and he was tickling it up and down her backside. He carried on for a second or two like that before smacking her again—this time four hard hits in a row—with the crop. The feather was back after that, dancing over her skin and making her aware of how tender her flesh was.

She found herself surprised by her own body. Her arousal only continued to grow, and she was sure that the seat of her lingerie was soaked now. She arched her back a little, causing the fabric to tighten and slip inside her folds a touch. Some of the lace rubbed against her swollen, aroused clit, and that seemed to tease her more than relieve her. Joker smacked her with the crop hard enough the next round—six hits with no breaks!—that tears formed in her eyes. While it was true that the hits were not hard, not in comparison to how hard she had hit the ground when she had not stuck a landing, her flesh was now so tender that the pain was doubled. The feather was felt more keenly than it would have been on her unabused flesh, and the shock kept her body pushing for release while making sure that it was most assuredly not enough to bring it about. Joker took the feather away again, and this time, he replaced it with _ten hard hits_ with the crop. Barbara yelped and moaned and whined and whimpered all at once, wanting to cry but her eyes not producing the tears she felt. She was done with this part now. She wanted him, and she wanted the punishment to stop. She missed kissing him, and she longed to feel his hands on her skin again.

He tickled the feather down the center of her backside. "You've done _so _well. I'm so proud of you, my girl."

She took a deep, steadying breath. The effect of his praise surprised her. She was happy that he was proud of her. She was happy that she had taken the hits without backing out. Joker slid a finger into her slit, and it met no resistance. She moaned at the welcomed touch, pushing back into it. He chuckled.

"Is someone ready to be fucked now?"

She nodded.

"Well, then it's time for my last surprise. Take a deep breath, my girl, and I need you to keep your body relaxed, okay?"

Her ass was on fire, so it was a struggle to meet this request. But she took another deep breath, telling herself over and over that it was almost time. He would grant her her release; he would touch her like she wanted. She had done good for him, and now she would be rewarded. In the next moment, she felt the head of his dick against her slit, and she moaned. Yes… this is what she wanted. He slid inside her with ease, and her whole body seemed to do the relaxing he had asked for. That all changed in the next second.

She felt something chilled—but not cold, exactly—at her more puckered hole. Before she could think, something that felt like it was the width of three fingers held together, slid into her virgin hole. She yelled against the gag, mentally begging him to stop.

He began to thrust, his left hand gripping her hip hard, her right hand pumping the unknown object in and out of her ass in the same rhythm as his manhood was in her pussy. She cried out and tried to buck out of his hold, but he held tight, going even faster.

"Yes, yes, that's it," he moaned, shoving the object in as deep as he could get it.

Barbara shouted her safeword, black, against her gag, but it came out muffled and distorted. Joker kept on his assault of both of her lower holes, and Barbara's hands fell out from under her, getting locked underneath her torso because of the cuffs as all of her weight was now on her shoulders, face, and knees. Now that she was a bit more stationary—she didn't rock as far on her shoulders as she had on her hands—Joker let go of her left hip and snaked his hands around to her sex. He worked his finger over her clit, rubbing at it as he continued to fuck her holes.

The sensations were too much, not to mention her still-tender backside taking ever slam of his pelvis. She tried her safeword again, but it was no use. Her body was still reacting to it all, finding that it liked it a touch better than her mind did. Her clit was taking the focus off her pussy and ass, and she could feel a climax fast approaching.

"Getting so tight," Joker moaned, shoving the object in and out of her ass even harder.

She cried out, wishing that that was the one thing that was missing from this equation—or that he had at least asked her about it, specifically. Everything would be perfect, were it not for the feel of her ass stretching and relaxing around this thing. She wanted this to be over.

Some magic combination happened between the fucking of her pussy and the rubbing of her clit. One moment, she was laying down, her cheek shoved into the bedding, waiting for the end of it, and the next she was hurled off cliffs of arousal and floating on a wave of the hardest, most violent orgasm she had had yet. She screamed against the gag, and Joker—thankfully—abandoned the foreign object to grip her hips and slam his way home. She was just catching her breath, the overwhelming feelings of what was happening to her taking over, when Joker's thrusts grew erratic. She could feel tears spilling over as Joker finished inside her.

He held his softening member inside her for a moment, breathing hard. Then, gingerly, with more care than he had taken toward the end of their lovemaking, he removed himself and undid her cuffs. He tossed them carelessly to the floor and then undid the gag, doing the same with it. Then, he moved up the bed and turned Barbara to face him. He seemed surprised when he saw her face.

"Oh, my dear… You're crying… and those don't look happy. What's wrong?"

He encircled her in his arms, and Barbara moved her own in between them, to form a sort of barrier.

"What did you do? What was that? You hit me _so__ hard_ at the end… and then you… you put that… that… whatever it was in my ass!"

"Oh, Babsy, I'm so sorry. Here," he said, pulling up a pink, silicone anal plug. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought you'd like it."

She sniffled, hating that she was crying at all. "Y-you didn't ask. And my skin was tender…"

He placed a chaste kiss to her forehead. "I never meant to hurt you like that."

"I-I used my safeword, but you couldn't hear it because of the gag."

His eyes widened a touch. "I didn't even think of that. Oh, Babs…. Will you let me make it up to you?"

He gently laid her back, one arm underneath her, and the other snaking down to rest on her abdomen. She sniffled again, blinking at him.

"Depends."

He smiled at her. "How about… a little sixty-nine? That way, you're on top and in control. You can stop it at any time. What do you say? Then, afterwards, I'll rub a little lotion on your poor, sore bottom."

She fought back another sniffle, and only half succeeded. She looked down at herself, then back at him.

"Even though I'm a sniveling mess?"

He booped her nose. "You're beautiful."

She leaned forward, kissing him deeply. Then, pulling back and regaining her breath, she nodded.

"Naked or still in the lingerie?" she asked.

Joker laid back, all grins. "Player's choice."

#

Barbara awoke several hours later, groggy and sated, and wondering what in the world had woken her. She blinked at the digital alarm by her side of the bed, willing her eyes to focus. After a moment, it became clear that it was just now three in the morning. She rolled over, ready to snuggle in next to her beau, when her arm hit nothing but bed and pillow. She leaned up, her brow furrowed. Then, in the distance, she heard a noise that sounded like people talking. And, if she kept listening, it sounded like it was coming from somewhere underneath her. Did the cabin have a basement… or a cellar? She slipped out of bed—now dressed in a long, cotton nightgown that had a winking set of eyes and red lips making a kissy face on it—and found her slippers to guard against the chilled floor. The cabin was now quite warm, since they had turned up the heat right before falling asleep. She grabbed a robe that she had hung on a hook on the back of the bedroom door and pulled it on over her nightgown. It wasn't quite as long as the gown, nor was it very thick, but it helped a little. She tied the sash about her waist and tiptoed out of the room, following the sound of the voices.

It wasn't hard to find the source… the door to the cellar—which was in the middle of the cabin's kitchen floor—was still open, and light glowed from within. Careful to step as lightly as possible, trying to avoid anything that felt like it might make noise, she crept closer. She found herself at the cellar's entrance, staring down at a set of plain wooden stairs. The voices were a lot less muffled here, and she could tell that it was Joker, Chauncey, and one other unidentified man down below. She tested the first step gingerly, relieved that it didn't make a sound. Slowly, she descended the stairs, pleased to see that a thin, wooden partition wall was constructed between the stairs and the rest of the cellar. She stopped a few steps above the bottom, her ear pressed against the wall.

It sounded as if Joker had thrown the unknown person down on something. The unknown man whimpered, and the crunch of a dirt floor reached her ears.

"Please, Boss. I swear, I wasn't doin' nuthin'. Honest."

"Oh, Seller, Seller, Seller," Joker said, _tsk_ing.

His voice was low, but still clear. There was something cold about it, and Barbara pulled her robe tighter about herself.

"Seller, do you know how incredibly rude you've been? Here you are, interrupting my nice vacation with my wonderful girl… and for what? To find out that you were going to go to the Bat. And what, pray tell, were you hoping to tell ol' pointy ears? Hmm?"

Barbara was sure her heart had to audible, even through the wall. _She_ had gone to the Bat, hadn't she? Joker sounded beyond pissed, like this was a betrayal of the deepest kind. What would he think of _her_ if he knew?

"N-nuthin'," Seller said again. "I swear."

"Really? So you went to the police station, asked to contact Batman, all for… nothing?"

There was a sound like a loud _zap_ and then the smell of burned meat. Seller cried out, but the sound was muffled. Barbara placed a hand over her mouth to contain her shock.

"I swear, Mr. J! I would never rat on you!"

"Ah, but therein lies the problem, dear Seller. You see, I'm sure that that was _exactly_ what you were going to do. Guilty conscience, hmm? Were you not _paid_ enough?"

"No, I wasn't going to. I swear!"

Another _zap_, and another muffled cry. It was followed immediately by another. Then another. Then another. Then, after one final one, Seller's voice broke free of whatever was restraining his cries of pain.

"All right! All right! It was Abbott! Abbott put me up to it! Said… said we should be ashamed of ourselves, as good Catholic boys, to do that to the lady cop! Said that murder was one thing but hurting a pregnant lady like that was the worst kind of sin. Said we could only confess. B-b-but I wasn't gonna go through with it, see? I was gonna let Abbott take the fall, I swear. Was gonna deny it all. I promise, Boss. I promise I wouldn't do that to you. It was Abbott, I swear. On my life, boss, I swear it was Abbott!"

Barbara felt hollow. And within that hollow feeling was a well of pain that was slowly spreading, like a cancer, to the rest of her. Joker had…? She had been right. Joker had put Falcone's thugs up to hurting Sarah, to forcing her to miscarry. She felt sick. She felt like a raging storm. But she kept it all in check. After all, she had a feeling that the worst had yet to come. Summoning all of her courage, she dared a peek beyond the partition wall.

Joker had moved so that he was next to the blubbering young man—maybe in his mid-twenties with short black hair and greasy skin, dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. The man was not tied to the chair. Instead, Chauncey stood over him, both of his hands on Seller's shoulders. But now that Joker was on Seller's right, Chauncey took his hands away, taking a single step back.

"You're right, I'm sure. Abbott was always a coward. I'll deal with him in just a matter of time. Thank you," Joker said, as if carrying on a pleasant conversation.

Seller's grinned, relieved. "No problem, Boss."

Joker pulled a handgun, complete with silencer, pressed the barrel to Seller's temple, and pulled the trigger. Seller's brain matter exploded out of the other side of his head, and Barbara whipped herself back around the corner. She pressed her hand into her mouth hard. Moving as quickly as she dared, she ascended the stairs. It was miracle, but she made it all the way back to the bedroom with no noise. She located her phone immediately, wishing she had heeded her father's advice to take her own vehicle. She unlocked the screen and mentally cursed. She had nothing in the way of service.

"Maybe outside," she murmured to herself.

She had to get out of here. She had to get to safety. She flicked through her numbers, stopping on the one she knew to be connected to Batman. She peeked out of the bedroom, seeing that neither Joker nor Chauncey had climbed up from the cellar yet. Quick as lightning, she crossed the floor, reaching for the front door.

Her eyes were on her service bar when she opened the front door and stopped.

A woman older than Barbara, but probably still a bit younger than Joker, stood in the doorway. She was dressed in black jeans and a red sweater, her blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail. Bright blue eyes twinkled as she took Barbara in, a smile stretching her red-painted lips.

"Ooh… Mistah J isn't going to like this, you bailing on him."

"Oh, Babsy? Where ya goin', my love?" came Joker's sing-song reply from behind her.

She turned, and realized she was trapped. In vain, she hit the call button on her phone, praying for something. The woman yanked the phone out of her hand, smashing it to bits against the threshold of the door.

"Shouldn't have done that, miss," Chauncey said, shaking his head, a giant roll of black plastic garbage bags in his hands.

"Good job, Harley," Joker said, and Barbara could feel the pride rolling off the woman behind her. Then, turning his attention back to her, he shook his head. "Oh, Babs… we should talk."


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little thing here... this is a dark story, and I worry that you all might feel like I've deceived you with the fluffier bits of this story. Trust me, from here on out, we've got nothing but inky darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Joker wrapped his arm around Barbara's shoulders, pulling her into the cabin's living room. Chauncey gave his boss a questioning glance, but the Joker only jerked his chin in the direction of the cellar. With a single nod, Chauncey went back downstairs. Barbara jumped as the front door shut, the lock clicking loudly into place. She turned to see Harley—whoever the hell that was—leaning against the door with a bright smile on her lips.

"Harley, give me and Babs some alone time, 'kay?"

The woman's face twitched, a shadow dancing over her features for just a split second. Then, with a bright bubbly voice, she said, "Sure."

"Go help poor Chauncey," Joker ordered.

She nodded, moving quickly to disappear down the stairs. Now, alone with the Joker, Barbara realized she was trembling.

"Oh, Babsy… you aren't afraid of me, are you?" he asked, his permanent grin flipped upside-down.

"I-I d-didn't…" she began, but a slight snarl formed on his face.

"Don't play stupid. You aren't, and we both know that. You saw everything. Didn't you?"

Barbara, still trembling, mentally weighed her options. She could attempt to lie further, and maybe—_maybe_—she could make it the rest of the week without any more incidents. Or she could tell the truth and see where that got her. A very large part of herself screamed to lie, to try and fool the Joker into believing that she had… she didn't know… maybe she had had a nightmare and went to call her father? That sounded weak, even to her. In the end, she nodded. After all, there was more to witnessing that murder than just seeing it.

"You got Falcone to send his thugs after Sarah… to hurt her. To make her miscarry. Didn't you?" she whispered.

"For you!" he shouted.

It was her worst fear confirmed. Her throat tightened as she fought tears. Her lips trembled, and she shook her head.

"How could you?"

She sniffled, and the look of sympathy on his face made her sick. She wanted to scream at him, to claw at his face, to make him feel the pain that she was feeling. As it was, he still had her locked into his side via the arm around his shoulders. Her face hardened, glaring at the clown.

"For me? You did it for _me_? How could you _ever_ think that hurting Sarah, causing her to lose the baby, would be something that _I_ wanted?"

He shook his head, sighing, as if she had misunderstood something so fundamentally simple. "Oh, Babs… It _is_ what you wanted, you just… You've just been so… tamed."

"What are you talking about?" she growled.

Joker _tsk_ed at her. "You know how all dogs are descended from wolves? Well, dear, you are… like a wolf, only you've been raised like you were a just a little… Pomeranian or something! My point, dearest, is that you were meant to run free, wild and untamed—like _moi_—but you've lived in captivity for so long that you've forgotten how."

Barbara was shaking, and she wasn't sure if it was the chill of the cabin or because of how close she was to him. She was still wearing that skimpy lingerie and a thin robe over it, and she dearly wished she was in almost anything but. Joker shook his head, staring down at her.

"I saw it all in your little closing statement speech. You _got_ it, dear, but it was so… prettied up. The way you explained it all, about the supposed _whys_ of my crimes based on my own testimony. You know, in your most primal self, that all it took was a little push to get going on what Gotham considers to be the most appalling crimes ever committed."

Chauncey emerged from the cellar, heading toward the backside of the cabin. She dared a glance in his direction, seeing him with several heavy and full garbage bags. She felt like she might vomit, and she gagged a little as Joker gently turned her chin back in his direction.

"Poor girl. So unused to the gritty ways of the world. I'm going to show it to you, dearest. I'm going to show you how ugly this world can get… and then I'm going to teach you how to overcome."

Barbara swallowed hard. "What does that mean?"

His permanent grin widened. "Oh, well… you really didn't think you were going home after this—to your cop father?"

Her eyes widened. Yes, in her most logical brain, she knew that Joker would never let her leave. But it was a completely new and terrifying experience to hear it said so blatantly. She shook her head, choking back a sob.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, I won't… I won't tell. I swear."

He arched a brow at her. "And who was it, _exactly_, you were calling when Harley stopped you?"

She shook. He didn't know, did he? About her involvement with the Bat? She allowed herself a little chin wobble, hoping that maybe it hadn't _all_ been an act—his feelings for her.

"I… I panicked. I swear. I've never… I just didn't know what to do. And I was mad and sad… and I'm sorry. I won't, I swear!"

Harley—as Joker had called her—now came up the stairs with more garbage bags. The woman glanced over at them, and Barbara saw something flicker in her eyes, making them go cold. But she still turned and marched off in the same direction Chauncey had gone.

"I'm not stupid either, girl," he growled.

If Joker's arm hadn't had her so locked in, she was sure her trembling would have her vibrating right off of the couch. He moved his other hand under her chin, shaking his head.

"You'll learn, my love. I'll show you. Chauncey!"

The chauffer/hired thug reentered the room. "Yeah, boss?"

He looked at Barbara as if he was legitimately concerned for her well-being. Joker tossed a chin toward the cellar.

"Get it clear. Then, make it so Babsy will be comfortable."

Chauncey glanced back at the open trapdoor. "Um… sure, b-boss."

"Aww," Joker cooed, pulling Barbara even closer. "I do think Chauncey is worried about you. If I promise not to hurt her, I won't have to kill you for trying to release her, will I, Chaunce?"

"I-I-I do whatcha tell me, Boss. Swear," he said, immediately turning without so much as another sideways glance at Barbara as he went back down into the cellar.

Joker stretched, still careful to keep a tight hold on her. "Until then, my dear, let's just enjoy a little romantic sit in front of this roaring fire, huh?"

She, obviously, didn't have much of a choice in that.

#

It was day two, or maybe three, of what was supposed to be a nice little getaway vacation—her first—with her boyfriend. Instead, she was laying on a lumpy mattress on a cheap, full-sized bed that had no bedclothes on it, her hands chained to the head, one leg chained to the foot—they, evidently, had run out of shackles. Joker visited her a few times, feeding her and washing her. He spoke softly to her, petted her head, and kept talking about how soon she would "understand." He tried to kiss her more than once, and she had screamed and fought until he stopped. Once, he had pulled his arm back, like he was going to slap her, and Barbara had surprised herself. She had expected fear to overwhelm her, to recoil. Instead, she had glared at him, as if daring him to do it. He had paused, his face softening just a touch, before he stood, grumbling. He yelled for Chauncey to lock her back into place as he exited the cellar.

Chauncey, for his part, spoke to her as if she were still on a date with his boss. The first night they had locked her to the bed, she had begged for him to free her. He had told her no. Now, whenever he tried to talk to her like she was his friend, she told him to fuck off. He seemed really saddened by that, but, frankly, she was quite literally not in a position to care.

By her estimation, she was in the cellar for about three days before she accepted the fact that her call—the one she had so desperately tried to send before the Harley woman had smashed her phone—had not gone through. The thought made her whole body stiffen with the effort of keeping herself from sobbing. She might die here, she knew. It was a sobering thought and one that was horrifying. But she was more afraid of what would remain for her family and friends—what would her father do, when she never came home?—than the act of actually being killed. But she would not give the Joker the satisfaction of tears, and she sure as hell wasn't going out without some kind of a fight. She may only be able to scream at him, but by God, she was going to give it all she had.

That evening—Barbara figured, by the tiny window that was near the ceiling of the cellar, at ground level—Joker descended into the cellar. He closed the trapdoor above him, and Barbara froze. He had never done that before. He carried an electric lantern in one hand, a bowl with some kind of utensil in it in the other. He sat the lantern down on a small, rickety table at the foot of the bed, along with the bowl. He undid her one chained leg and pulled her up until she was partially upright.

"Chauncey said you didn't eat much at lunch," he said, grabbing the bowl and sitting beside her.

He lifted the spoon, and Barbara could smell that it was some kind of soup—it looked like chicken noodle. Joker put the spoon to her lips. The metal was hot, but not scorching, and Barbara pursed her lips shut. Joker sighed, pulling the spoon away.

"I don't want to hurt you, dearest, but you _do_ need to eat. Don't make me force you."

Her head still turned to the side—where she noticed, for the first time, some spots of blood that Chauncey must have missed from the earlier execution that made her feel sick—she said, "How do I know you haven't poisoned it?"

Joker rubbed the bridge of his nose. "My love—"

"_Don't_ call me that," Barbara snapped, whipping her head around.

In that moment, Joker shoved a spoonful of the soup in her mouth. It burned on the way down her throat, choking her a bit, but the tiny bit of flavor reminded her of exactly how hungry she was. Her stomach rumbled, and Joker's grin was a touch triumphant.

"I don't want you dead, dearest," he said, holding out another full spoon.

Barbara stared at it, mulling over his words. Slowly, she parted her lips, and he fed her a bit more gently this time.

"Actually, this whole situation is silly, honestly," he said, feeding her yet more.

"I agree. Let me go," she said.

He chuckled. "Oh, my funny girl. No. I mean, if you would just agree to leave Gotham with me, I could unchain you. We could leave tonight."

Her eyes widened. "What? You want… you want us to _leave_?"

"You're not ready, Babs. You still need time to _see_ it, to get the punchline to the grandest cosmic joke there is. And you'll just start all _kinds_ of trouble if I let you go home. It would complicate things if I had to, you know, _remove_ a few things from the equation myself."

The glint in his eyes was unmistakable. He was threatening her. Or, more likely, her family. The look vanished as soon as it appeared, and he graced her with a soft look of concern.

"I don't like keeping you like this. I'm trying to free you, and this? This is the opposite. But, for now, it's for your own good."

He finished feeding her the soup. She licked her lips, savoring the salty broth on her lips as he pulled her back into a reclining position. She shook her head.

"I told you, I won't say anything. I swear. J-just let me go."

"I told you, Babsy, I can't do that. But… if you want to leave _with_ me…"

He locked her ankle into its cuff and turned, running thin, gloved fingers up her leg. She shivered, still dressed in that damned lingerie, and he chuckled.

"I miss having you in my bed, dearest," he said, stopping his finger at just above her knee.

Her whole body quaked. She swallowed, hard, and hoped it wasn't noticeable. Her lips parted, wanting to speak, wanting to tell him that she couldn't leave with him. Her brain was working through all sorts of logical arguments against leaving the city with him, but his hand was trailing higher and all logic stopped. Fear took its place.

"Please don't," she whispered.

He paused just at the crotch of her lacy coverings; his eyes narrowed. "One little guy gets his brains blown out, and suddenly you don't want me anymore? Is that it?"

He ground out the words, and Barbara spotted her mistake immediately. She shook her head.

"No. No, that's not it," she protested.

Joker grabbed her leg, his fingers digging into her flesh. "So you do want me?"

He let go of her, his hands going to the zipper in his pants—which were tented against an ominous bulge that she more than recognized. She shook her head again.

"Not like this," she whispered. "Please."

She pulled her knees together, her whole body still shaking as Joker undid his fly and removed his hardened cock. Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, he stroked it over her.

"Stop," she breathed.

"Oh, Babs… I miss you so much… I know you miss me…" he moaned, speeding up his hands.

He reached down with his free hand, gripping the fragile lace and tearing it easily in two, shoving the lingerie up around her neck, exposing her unclothed breasts to the chilly air around them. Her nipples instantly stiffened into peaks, and he moaned, jerking himself faster.

She shook her head. "Joker, please… stop. Don't do this," she begged.

"Oh, m'dear, you know how I _love_ it when you beg," he groaned.

He lifted his right knee, resting it on the mattress beside her and putting most of his weight on it. As a result, his hardened dick was now hovering right over her center, just above her sex but below her navel. His free hand grasped her breast, kneading it roughly. The blue veins in his cock stood out against his pale white flesh, giving his member an angry look to it. Barbara felt tears forming in her eyes, and she screamed internally at herself to look away. But she couldn't, and it felt like she was staring down the barrel of a gun as he pumped himself more and more over her mostly naked form. Her body—not yet caught up with the reality of the situation—still remembered how good it had felt to be touched by him, to feel that cock inside of her. She felt a dampness forming down her thighs, and she berated herself for it.

"Oh, dearest… I miss the way you feel, the way you taste," he moaned.

Suddenly, his movements increased almost to the point of violence, and his hot seed exploded from him, spilling all across her belly and chest. He jerked himself until his cock began to soften in his hold. With a breathy sigh, he tucked his member back into his pants, zipping them back up. He stared down at her, smiling. "I'll send Chauncey down in a bit. Think about my offer, Babsy. And… about other things."

He turned and made his way back up the stairs, her destroyed lingerie still pulled up to her neck, his seed quickly cooling on her flesh. She wanted to beg him not to send Chauncey, not to let anyone else see her like this. But she knew that that would do her no good. This was a punishment, of sorts., for even thinking of leaving him. She closed her eyes when she heard the henchman on the stairs, shutting her eyes tight as she heard him approach.

"I-I'm gonna clean you up, okay, Miss?" Chauncey asked quietly.

She nodded, feeling a single fat tear roll down her face. She flinched when she felt a cloth touch her chest, and another tear rolled free when she heard Chauncey apologize. Somewhere, deep inside, there was an ember of rage at this situation, at everything, even herself. But, for the moment, she just lay there, letting Chauncey clean her, and cried.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Harley couldn't understand it. It made no damn sense to her. Here it was, she was a voluptuous, _gifted_, and willing woman, but her Mistah J still wanted that little redheaded slut locked in the cellar. She had seen him, coming up the narrow stairs, and she could practically smell it on him. She had no idea exactly _what_ he had done down there, or to what level little Miss Gordon had participated, but Mistah J had definitely gotten his rocks off.

The memory of him holding her, pressing against her as hard as he possible could as he rammed his rock-hard member inside of her, both of them moaning and keening with need, rose unbidden to her mind. Her arms were crossed across her chest, her fingers digging into the sweater that was probably the only thing that kept her nails from breaking flesh. Joker barked at Chauncey to "get Babsy clean," and the henchman hustled off to do just that. Behind closed lips, Harley bit the end of her tongue. What the hell did that little teeny-bopper have that she didn't? The girl had probably been a virgin before Mistah J, so it wasn't like she knew any tricks. Granted, with the way the internet was these days… but still, it wasn't likely.

Joker retreated to the bedroom, and Harley mentally did a ten-count before she followed. She paused right outside the door, fixing a sultry but bright smile on her face. He _really _liked smiles. She rapped on the door but didn't wait for an answer before she entered. Joker was in the threshold between he attached bathroom and the bedroom, and he turned with an arched brow and a touch of a grimace when she closed the door behind her. What had the girl done to him now?

"What do you want?" he snapped.

Her heart broke. All he had wanted was a fun getaway from work, but that stupid girl had to make it all about her. Harley knew how to treat him, what he needed. She slinked over to the bed, sinking down onto the foot of it.

"Puddin', are you all right? You seem… tense."

His face contorted into a snarl, just for a second, before it was back to his neutral, frozen grin. "Don't call me Puddin'," he grumbled, walking into the bathroom.

Harley listened as he began to run the shower and fought down a grin. Maybe she could give him a little relief. It wouldn't take but a second to shimmy out of her clothes, hopping in behind him. She stood, grasping the hem of her sweater, ready to pull it free, when he called, "I have an idea."

Harley let her grin loose. "Yeah?"

The water shut off, and Harley's brow furrowed as she let go of her sweater. Joker emerged, dressed in nothing but his boxers—purple with little red hearts. He wasn't even wet. His thoughts were so consumed with this little slip of a girl that he couldn't even enjoy a relaxing shower! Harley's heart broke for him all over again.

"Oh, Pudd—uh… Mistah J… you're really in a tizzy, aren't ya?" Harley said, sashaying her way over to him. She ran a finger up his pale, pale bare chest. She looked up at him, adding, "I betcha I know what that idea was."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, his grin widening.

"Let me take your mind off things. Ride your Harley, Mistah J, and remember what it's like to really have _fun_. You're too good for her."

His grin was sweet… just seconds before the back of his ungloved hand slammed down across her face, sending her crashing to the ground. She put her hand against her aching cheeks, fighting the tears that had immediately formed in her eyes as she stared up at him. It was then that she saw it. It was small, but it was _right there_ on his damn boxers, right over his dick. A white, crusty little stain that explained why Chauncey had had to go clean Barbara up. She pursed her lips, gritting her teeth behind him while he glowered over her.

"_Never_ say that about her. _Never_ even _think_ that she is anything less than perfection!" he growled.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Get out. Get out!"

Harley knew his moods better than most. She lost no time scrambling to her feet and rushing from the bedroom. The door slammed shut just as she crossed the threshold, and she could see through the doorway across the way that Chauncey was coming up from the cellar, his eyes a little sad and downcast. Harley snarled. What the fuck was so special about this girl?

Harley spent the next couple of days mulling over that very question as she watched both Joker and Chauncey attend to the poor widdle princess like she was the damn Queen of Sheba! It made her sick that any one person, especially a woman just out of childhood, could be so manipulative. Finally, three days into it, she volunteered to take the girl her lunch. Chauncey had seemed wary of the offer but had relented easily enough. Now, Harley would find out exactly what was so great about Barbara Gordon. She clasped the bowl of soup in both hands, the spoon balancing within, as she stepped cautiously down the dimly lit stairs.

The girl wasn't looking her best, to be sure. Her little nightdress was wrinkled and looking a little too worn. Her hair was messy, but not as bad as Harley would have supposed after several days of being chained to a bed. With a mental roar, she wondered if Barbara here had had the boys upstairs brushing her hair for her. It made her want to toss the hot soup onto little miss thing's barely covered body. But she didn't. She showed restraint and composure. She plastered on her best, happiest smile and set the bowl down on a little table several feet away from the bed.

"Grub time!" Harley sing-songed.

Barbara blinked at her, confused. "Where's Joker?"

Harley curled her hands at her side. Was she so demanding that Mistah J couldn't even have a second to rest? Selfish, definitely a symptom of being an only child. Harley plastered an even wider smile on her face as she gently scooted the table closer. She took a seat on the edge of Barbara's cot, sighing and placing her hands in her lap for just a moment.

In this moment, she took a second to really drink in the girl's appearance. True, she had probably seen better days, but, even still, she was… cute. Harley hated to think it—especially since it was a word that had described herself for most of her life. She reached forward and playfully _booped_ Miss Gordon's little button nose, and the girl blinked at her, obviously dismayed.

"Now, Mistah J is a busy, busy man. _I_ am being a good Samaritan and offering my help in feeding you. Poor Mistah J deserves a break every now and again, you know? He's constantly performing for his adoring public."

Barbara, despite looking horrid in a dirty, crumpled nightdress with grime streaking her legs, arms, and face, and her hair beginning to look more knotted to Harley now that she was closer, still managed to pull off a spiteful sneer.

"I suppose it is hard, pretending to be reformed when he's still the same monster he's always been," she snipped.

Harley frowned. "Now, none of that. Mistah J… he's had it rough. I can't even tell you—doctor-patient confidence, of course—but he has, really. For the longest time, I believe the sessions he had with me were the only times he felt relaxed and himself—_happy_."

Barbara blinked at her. "You're… you're his psychiatrist? From Arkham?"

Harley set a little straighter and forced back the feeling of pride was making her chest swell. "He mentioned our sessions, did he?"

The redhead scanned her face for a moment before saying, "Once. He said he had to get to his therapy session, to be exact."

The words bit, and Harley wasn't an idiot. She knew the girl had meant for them to sting. They did, no doubt, but she would be damned if she let it show. Instead, she reached behind her head, gripped the back of her gown—and a good amount of her hair—and yanked, perhaps a touch harder than necessary—up until the girl's head was no longer lying flat. Harley would be lying if she said that the little grimace of pain on Barbara's face wasn't pleasing. She reached for the soup and spoon, loading up a good mouthful.

"Now, say 'aw.' Or do we need to play 'here comes the airplane'?" she said, holding the spoon just an inch or so in front of Barbara's mouth.

She stared up at her, and Harley didn't like the look of dawning comprehension that was spreading over her dirty face. She cocked a single brow up, a cruel smirk fighting to make itself known in the corner of her mouth. Harley steeled herself, preparing for any verbal barb the girl would throw at her. Instead, Barbara only opened her mouth. Harley fed her the spoonful of soup and grinned.

"There's a good girl," she cooed. "Mistah J will be happy when I report that you've been so cooperative."

Barbara took another mouthful of soup, and Harley was feeling quite pleased with herself. But, after a quick lick of some escaping broth on her lips, Barbara nodded.

"I'm sure he will. After all, it's important he's happy, isn't it?"

Harley stared at the girl, her eyes narrowed. She didn't reply, simply feeding Barbara another bite. After it was swallowed, the younger woman continued, "That's it, isn't it? You want nothing more than his happiness—and you wanted to be the source of it. I've read about this. My Dad's the commissioner, so I've read all sorts of reports on the Joker. He's got a way about him, the way he twists and manipulates. Hell, even _I_ fell for it. But you? You're still under his sway, aren't you? You want to be the one he loves… but instead it's me. A dumb kid by comparison."

Harley felt her whole body shudder, and her very bones seemed to shake within her flesh. She forced her smile to be even brighter, plastering it on, because Mistah J preferred smiles. Then, without taking her eyes off the redhead, she reached over, barely put the tips of her fingers on the lip of the bowl containing Barbara's lunch, and pushed gently downward. The bowl flipped, the food—the whole amount, minus three bites—careening to the cement floor.

"Oh my," Harley said, followed by a _tsk_ing sound. "I was so nice to you, and I tried to be so helpful. But then, oh but then, you _fought_ me, hit my hand, and knocked your food to the floor. Mistah J isn't gonna like this."

Barbara's eyes went wide as Harley stooped, grabbing up the bowl, and began to head toward the stairs.

"N-no. Th-that's not what happened!" the girl yelled.

Harley flashed her a bright grin and a shrug as she exited the cellar and shut the door behind her. She left the dishes in the sink, fixed a sad pull to her lips, and went to find her puddin'. She found him in the bedroom, exiting the attached bathroom, as a matter of fact. A large, white fluffy towel—almost the exact shade of his skin—was wrapped about his waist, and she stopped in the doorway of the bedroom to appreciate the curves of his lean muscles, and the way his green hair was curling even now against the wetness.

"Did Babs eat?" he asked.

Harley could almost imagine a record scratch in her head at the mention of that stupid kid's name. The frown to accompany her story wasn't hard to fake.

"She was so mad, Puddin'. She struggled and knocked the bowl to the floor, with all the food. She said such—" She sniffled here for effect. "—mean things."

Joker's hands curled briefly into claws as he let out a growl. He moved to take a seat on the foot of the bed, burying his hands in hands. He tapped a quick beat on the floor with his right foot, and Harley didn't need to be able to see his eyes—which were downcast and hidden by his hands—to know he was glaring a hole into the flooring.

"What am I gonna do with her? Why doesn't she _get_ it? She understood it all so perfectly in her submission for the closing statement."

Harley shrugged. "Maybe she lied. It was just a dumb school assignment."

Joker shot Harley a look of pure venom, and the psychiatrist raise a shaking palm. "O-or, maybe, she's just not used to being so free in the open yet. Y-you did tell me that she lives in a very repressing environment."

Joker went back to glaring at the floor. "Yes, but how to break her of her bad habits is the question."

Harley's mouth twitched into a tiny grin for just a moment as a rather wicked plan entered her mind. Slowly, moving like a shadow, she crossed the space from the doorway to the bed, crawling carefully upon it. She moved until she was right behind the Clown Prince, resting soft hands on his shoulders.

"You're so tense," she said, beginning a careful massage.

When he groaned in pleasure and didn't throw her to the floor, she took that as a sign to continue, which she did gladly. "I know you'll find a way to help her, Puddin'. She just needs to be shown, you know? Just like I did. Now look at how happy I am. But you… you need a break. You need to take some time, to work out some of the tension. A, ahem, full body workout, you know?"

She was lobbing brick-sized hints, and she didn't care. Joker suddenly sat up ramrod straight, and Harley snatched her hands away lightning fast. He turned, his frozen grin even wider.

"My dear Harley girl… you've given me an idea. And you'll help me with it, of course?"

Her heart soared. "Of course I will, Mistah J!"

#

It was the next night, and Harley still had no idea what she was helping with. Joker had sent her away soon after he had asked her, but now he held her hand, leading her down into the cellar. Yes, a voice at the back of Harley's mind was screaming at her that this was all about Barbara and that it was a huge red flag that they were heading down to the cellar where the little brat was, but… Harley had learned a long time ago not to listen to the voices in her head.

Their shoes made scuffling sounds as they hit the dirty cement of the cellar floor, and Harley took a moment to look over at the young woman still handcuffed to the bed. Barbara looked as confused as Harley felt, but that was when the Joker made his intentions clear. He yanked on Harley's arm, twirling her into his embrace, and kissed her full and deep.

Harley's eyes widened; her heart thudded against her chest hard. She dared another glance at the redhead, whose eyes were equally as wide. Joker's hands moved up from the small of Harley's back and worked their way into the little spaces between her blouse's buttons. With one mighty jerk, he ripped it open, buttons popping off in all directions.

"M-M-Mistah J," Harley stammered.

"Quiet," he growled, pulling the destroyed top off her.

Her pencil-line skirt was unzipped and pulled from her until she stood there in nothing more than the purple and white lacy bra and panty set. She blushed as she remembered buying it, thinking that the man who was currently undressing her would enjoy it. She puffed out her chest, about to ask his thoughts on it—maybe even give a little playful shake of her chest—when he all but tore the brassiere from her.

Harley glanced back over at Barbara, finding that the girl had shut her eyes tightly and turned her head away. Joker turned, following his psychiatrist's gaze. He reached over and gripped the girl's chin, hard, and yanked her gaze back over to the two of them.

"You're going to learn to appreciate the freer side of life, Babsy. Lesson the first, enjoying what you've got and using it when you want. Don't look away, or this will start to hurt."

He let go of her, turning his attention back to the blonde. Harley had, with a little bit of shaking, already removed her panties. They were cute, bikini cut, white with purple hearts. She didn't want to lose them to this cause like she had the bra and blouse. Joker's grin was pure deviousness as he yanked her body to his, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth. He sucked and licked at it, causing Harley's head to loll back. She let out a moan as Joker brought a hand up to pinch at the other nipple. He moved from one breast to the other, and Harley peeked open an eye.

She had never had sex while someone watched before. She had read about this situation in certain trashy novels and had even watched a porn or two featuring the situation. She had always thought she might find it a bit of a turn on, in the right setting.

Right now, as Joker shoved her up against the wall at the foot of Barbara's bed—so that the girl would have to look down at her feet to watch, but would still have a front-row view—and trailed his tongue down her body until he was on his knees and his tongue was dancing within her folds, Harley wasn't sure this qualified as "the right setting." But she couldn't ignore the way it felt to have her puddin's talented tongue dancing across her increasingly sensitive clit. Her hands dropped to her sides and she clawed at the wall, moaning.

"Stop. Please!" Barbara yelled, shutting her eyes and looking away.

All at once, Joker's licking of her clit came to a sudden halt as he jumped to his feet and moved to the bed to straddle the young Miss Gordon. Harley panted, trying to catch her breath, and unable to see anything but Barbara's legs kicking as much as they could while still being cuffed and Joker's back.

"Be good, Babsy. I don't want to hurt you… but it doesn't mean I won't. Some lessons are painful, ya know."

A gagging noise followed, and Harley, her brain still hazed from her growing arousal, feared for a moment that he was fucking her mouth. But, after realizing that he was still fully clothed and seated too far back for that, she came to the conclusion that he must be choking her. That voice at the back of her mind was back, asking whether or not she should be okay with the fact that that apparently made her wetter than a water hose.

"Are you gonna be good, dear, and watch like I've asked you to?"

There was a gagged reply, but it seemed to satisfy Joker as he stood. Harley could see small bruises, even in the cellar's dim lighting, forming on the girl's neck. Joker let his fingertips trail along her body as he came back to Harley.

"Good girl," he growled, and while Harley knew he was talking to Barbara, she pretended it was her he meant it for, which made her grow even wetter.

Joker turned away from the redhead and pinned Harley up against the wall. She was a little disappointed that he didn't seem to be returning to eating her out, but that thought quickly vanished as he worked a hand down to her folds and began to fiercely rub her clit.

"Yes, yes, yes," she moaned, her head tilting back against the wall.

"That's it, Harley girl. Show Babs what she's missing out on," Joker purred, moving his fingers down until they slid inside of her with no resistance.

Harley squeaked and keened as Joker pumped two digits in and out of her, and she felt her inner walls beginning to tighten. It had been _so long_ since he last touched her like this.

"Come for me, Harley. Come for me, and then Babsy really gets a show," he ordered.

That was all it took, the coil winding itself up in Harley's nethers sprang loose, and she screamed as she soaked the Joker's hand with her orgasm. When she finally came down from her high, she felt him remove his fingers from inside of her. Her head lolled over to stare at Barbara, who was red-cheeked with tears streaming down her face. She heard Joker unzip his fly, and a small smile played about her lips.

"No need to cry," Joker said, lifting Harley up while still holding her pinned against the wall. "All you need to do is ask, and I'll gladly stop and move my attentions to you. I love _you_."

Harley's heart skipped a beat. She wanted to cry. The words hurt and made her scared all at once. No! No, no, no, NO! _She_ wanted him! She wanted to ride his cock and made him come while he was buried balls deep inside of _her_. She glanced over at Barbara as she felt the head of Joker's cock tease her outer folds. But she girl had her lips pursed tightly shut, tears still streaming and face still red, as Joker shrugged.

"Have it your way," he said, thrusting into Harley.

Harley cried out, moaning and rocking her hips toward him. She wrapped her legs tightly around him, holding herself up while he was able to get a better leverage on the wall. Having lettered in gymnastics really had done wonders for her.

Joker slammed into her full tilt, taking her as roughly as he could against the wall. And she _loved_ it.

"Yes, Mistah J! More! Fuck me harder! Give it to me!" she screamed.

Joker went as hard as possible, slamming into her until she could feel the walls of her pussy tightening, trying to hold him inside her longer and longer until finally she cried out, screaming his name.

"That's right, Harley, come hard on my cock. Remind her how it feels to be my good little girl!"

He continued his rough taking of her until Harley was sobbing with the intensity of her second orgasm. It felt like she couldn't breathe, like all she could do was scream and scream and scream, like she could die any second now.

It would be worth it.

But death didn't come for her—not the big one, anyway—as Joker's thrusts got more and more erratic. With a grunt and a growl, Joker's hot seed filled her, and Harley smiled, her breathing finally returning to normal as he finished.

He withdrew from her folds, all but dropping her to the floor. He walked over to Barbara, his dick still out, semi-hard, and covered in both his cum and Harley's juices.

"Lick it clean," he ordered, positioning himself near her mouth.

Barbara's mouth opened, and Harley was sure it was to protest, but Joker shoved his cock inside. The girl cried as he thrusted a bit, his frozen grin aimed down at her in a look that was almost loving.

"That's it. That's my good girl. Use that pretty little tongue and get every last drop. Next time, if you're good and listen to me, it could be your juices that you're licking off of me."

After a moment, he pulled his cock from her lips with a wet _pop_ and set about putting himself to rights. He was pristine and put together in just seconds, and when he turned to face Harley, still slumped naked in the floor, he sneered.

"Get up and get out," he ordered. "Now!"

She nodded, launching to her feet. She gathered her broken and discarded clothing and rushed from the cellar.

She didn't even bother trying to get dressed.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, everyone, for taking this ride with me! That being said, yes, there will be a sequel to this... as it does end in a touch of a cliffhanger. (Not too bad of one, though, I swear!) But the bad news is that, given some projects I need to be working on, I probably won't get to begin working on it until late spring, early summer. Hopefully, I'll be able to write some chapters and at least get a head start, but... no promises. Sub to the series (called "Spiral into Madness") to be notified when I begin posting the next story!

Barbara was sure that it had to be way past the time her dad was expecting her home. Surely she had been trapped in this godforsaken cellar for longer than a week? But, truth be told, with only sparse furniture—her metal and lumpy bed, the little wooden table beside her, and a mirror on the far wall hung high enough that she could only see the reflection of the ground-level, small rectangular window on the wall behind her—and the window itself, it was hard to judge time. She had tried by counting the meals that either Joker or Chauncey brought her—she preferred it when Chauncey was the one to bring them to her. Harley had only fed her that one time, followed by that horrible… well, Barbara didn't like to think about it. Instead, she constantly thought of only escape and survival. She was Jim Gordon's daughter, by God, and she wasn't going to let something like this be the end of her.

But she couldn't judge time by Joker's visits and offerings of food. He fed her, certainly, insisting that he didn't want to hurt her. But the visits were too often. And he didn't always come to feed her.

True, after the incidents with Harley and the one before—the one Chauncey had had to be the one to clean her up from—Joker had not touched her in such a sensual way since. In a way that was perhaps even worse, he was always tender when he was just touching for touching-sake. A gentle palm against her cheek, a playful little hook of his finger under her chin, a soft pat on her shoulder, things of that nature were the only ways he had touched her since his little tryst with Harley.

Then there were the times he didn't touch her—at least, not with his hand.

He had other ways of making her listen to him, he had announced to her one day, flashing what looked like a joy buzzer at her. He wore the buzzer so it could be concealed easily in his palm. Barbara had instantly gone cold at the sight of it. She had read the articles, the reports. Joker had sat on the edge of her bed, asking her to leave Gotham, willingly, with him. When she had said no, he had _tsk_ed, shook his head, and pressed the buzzer into her left thigh. The jolt of electricity—way more than what Barbara was sure was recommended for a human being to endure—shot through her, bringing hot tears to her eyes and screams to her lips.

She had no idea how long he had done this to her, but he would ask her a question and whatever answer she supplied would be followed by another round of electrocution. This wasn't his only method of "making her listen," either. Once, after a feeding, he had brought down a tiny box with him whose contents shook and made _chink_-ing noises within it. She soon found out that the box was filled with tiny pieces of shattered glass—from what, Barbara couldn't say. She didn't really get a chance to examine them. Joker started again, asking his questions, asking her to leave with him of her own free will—this seemed important to him, for some reason. Each time, when she denied him or gave an answer he disliked, he would shove a small palm-full of glass into her—her legs, her arms, her stomach. The cuts were small and didn't bleed a lot, but it hurt. Which, Barbara supposed, was the point.

Another time after that, he brought a large rubber chicken with him. She had heard of this "classic Joker" weapon as well. It had scissors in the beak, while something heavy—a brick, soap, whatever was on hand—filled the butt of the once-comedic prop. He didn't use the scissors that day. No, instead, when the routine of asking questions and asking her to leave with him started, when displeased, he would beat her about her body—he avoided her face, hands, and feet for reasons that Barbara couldn't fathom—with the weighted end of the chicken. She was sobbing by the end of that lesson. The morning (perhaps) after, she was covered in blue and black bruises.

She was awakening from a fitful sleep as the sound of the trapdoor to the cellar opening reached her ears. She tensed, which hurt both the cuts—now cleaned (by Chauncey) and scabbed over—and the bruises that did their best to remind her that she was here, and that this was really happening to her. She hissed at the dull pain, willing her body to relax to give her a modicum of relief. She finished relaxing when she saw it was Chauncey, with a bowl of some kind of soup, descending the stairs.

Above them, there was the faint sound of a door slamming in the distance. Barbara blinked. Had Joker left? Or had Harley been sent away? She couldn't recall ever hearing such a thing before this moment. Chauncey set the bowl of food on the table by her bed, oddly still holding the spoon in his right hand, as he bent and undid all of her shackles. Her eyes widened. Never, unless it was Joker himself, had her shackles been completely undone while she had been down here.

"The boss and the doc had to go take care of some business in the city before we left for good. Said they should be gone for a about an hour," Chauncey said, nodding briefly upward. "He told me to feed you while they was gone."

At that, a soft _clank_ sounded as the spoon slipped from Chauncey's grip.

"Oops, butterfingers," he muttered, putting his back to Barbara.

She blinked as she quickly, and quietly, shoved herself to her feet. Her legs wobbled, unused to supporting her weight after going so long laying down. Her body ached and her cuts stung, but she ignored it as she grabbed the bowl of food and quickly set it upon her bed. Then, she grabbed the table by its thick, heavy stem and hoisted it as far as she could over her head. She knew that, later—given she survived whatever happened next—she would never be able to explain what made her pause and glance over Chauncey's hulking, crouched figure into the mirror on the wall beyond. But she did, and she was shocked to her core to find Chauncy staring at it as well, using it to make eye contact with her. He nodded, once, decisive, still bent and reaching for the spoon that was out of the mirror's view. Barbara sucked in a deep, quiet breath.

With all of her strength, she brought the table down across the back of Chauncey's head. He made let out a grunt and fell forward. His chest still rose and fell, but it was clear the blow had had its intended effect. He was unconscious.

She lost no more time. She dropped the table and forced her aching body up the stairs. She charged to the front door, passing the couch as she did. She knew she had to get going, to put as much distance between herself and the Joker as an hour would allow. But she knew it was still December and frigid outside. She grabbed the heavy afghan off the back of the couch and wrapped it tightly about herself like a cape or cloak. Her shoes, she was pleased to find, were still beside the front door—as if this was actually the romantic vacation it was supposed to have been—her socks shoved inside of them. A habit her mother and father had both called bad but was clearly going do her some good here. She hopped on one shaky foot as she put on one sock, then the other. Then, she stepped into her shoes and was out the door.

The limo was still parked outside, but there was an impression in the snow that told her that Joker and Harley must have left in the latter's car. Barbara didn't pause to ponder this for long, running out into the forest. She had to keep moving, letting the bottom of the afghan cover her tracks as best as it could. She would get out as far as possible, then she would try to find the road and get to help. She would have to be carefully selective of the cars she waved down when she did. She didn't know what Harley's car had looked like, but judging by the impression in the snow, it wasn't big enough for any kind of truck or SUV. Maybe she would limit her attempts for help to those? And perhaps any emergency vehicles she saw?

She had time enough to think about it as she jogged deeper into the woods. She didn't want to expend all her energy, but she also wanted to get as much distance as possible between herself and Joker. The sun was setting, and it was about to get even colder soon. Hopefully, things were looking up for her.

#

It had been full dark for at least twenty minutes, by Barbara's guess. Surely Joker and Harley had arrived back at the cabin to see that she was gone. She had done her best to sweep away her tracks in the snow—which was easily several inches deep—with the end of the afghan. There was still a significant amount of cold hitting her very uncovered legs, and she cursed herself for not thinking to grab at least a pair of pants. But she argued further with herself that the less time she had spent leaving the cabin, the more time she had given herself to get away from Joker.

The trees in the forest were not as dense as she would have liked. Yes, there were several evergreens that added some coverage, but there were still yet more that had long since shed their leaves that left wide gapes for viewing. She knew she had to have at least covered that hour window Chauncey—poor Chauncey, which, despite everything, she worried over—had given her to escape, but only just. She had no idea how far a person could get, on foot, in an hour's time, but it had to be significant, right? She had jogged for sections of her trek through the woods, walking only when she knew her body needed a rest. When she got thirsty, she took her chances on the snow, scooping handfuls into her mouth. She began to mentally count seconds, minutes, telling herself that once she got to a certain time, she would start heading in the direction she supposed the road to be in to start waving down certain cars for help.

Thank God her Dad had insisted on teaching her some boy scout level stuff. After several head-counted minutes, she figured she must have reached an hour and twenty minutes out from the cabin, and she turned, headed in the south, southeast direction she figured the road was. She walked another five or so minutes when a faraway noise caught her attention.

She stopped, only for a fraction of a second, straining her ears to pick out the alien noise in the natural ambiance of the forest. The noise sounded again. It was distant, but not so distant that it couldn't catch her. She began moving again, her ears alert for it. When she heard it again, it was no closer, but her tired brain finally deciphered what it was.

"Barrrbarrrrraaa?"

Her heart stopped. It was Joker. She'd hear that high-pitched jester's caw in her nightmares for the rest of her life. She swore under her breath and began running. Behind her, far away, she heard the soft crunch of snow as her pursuer was obviously doing the same.

"Shit," she sobbed tearlessly.

"Babsy, come back! I promise, I won't be angry… Much!" Joker's voice called, followed by a quick, loud, "Ha!"

Was he closer? Or was her brain playing tricks? She had covered her tracks! How had he found her?

She forced the panicked thoughts from her mind, screaming mentally at her legs to go even faster. Hell, at this point, even if it was Harley she flagged down from the road, she could take the vehicle from her… couldn't she? Damn it all, she was willing to try. She had to get to the road.

She ran as hard as she could, still headed in the supposed direction of the road, when she could see the trees beginning to thin, just a bit. A small, thankful smile broke on her face. She let out a small, gasping sob, as she used the newfound joy to fuel her steps.

"Barbara!" Joker's voice shouted.

He was angry. His tones, even in shouted form, were more guttural. She couldn't let him catch her. He'd kill her. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name. Her breath came in heavy gasps that were very visible in the freezing air.

"Babs!"

Joker's voice was closer. How was it closer? The afghan was slowing her down, she reasoned in her panicked mind, taking it off, balling it up, and hurling it as far away from herself as she could. She kept running. The trees were getting ever thinner, and she was almost positive she could see a glimpse of asphalt on the horizon.

A loud noise sounded, and a piece of bark from a tree several feet to her left flew off. He was shooting at her! She ducked her head, adding just a touch of zigzag to her steps as she continued to move. Another shot, this one to her right.

The road was just up ahead! She could see the land start to bank upward toward it. She sobbed again, her legs both freezing and burning as she refused to stop. She was so close!

Another shot, and this time, and the feeling of every bad knee scrape—and she was a gymnast, so that was a lot—combined exploded on her upper right arm. She clapped a hand over it, feeling a trickle of warm blood blooming against her fingers. But she was on the embankment now, and she scrambled quickly up it, reaching the top just as another bullet whizzed by her left shoulder and a car screeched to a stop right in front of her.

"Get in!" the driver screamed at her once she had flung the passenger side door open.

Barbara took only a second to register that the woman behind the wheel wasn't Harley before she threw herself into the passenger seat. She grabbed the door's handle, catching a distant glimpse of a purple figure with unnaturally white skin in the dark as she did, and slammed it shut.

"It's okay, Barbara. You're safe," the driver said.

Barbara looked over at the woman who was already flooring it away from the scene. She was blonde, but that's were her similarities to the Joker's doctor ended. She was just a touch stockier, and she wore her hair down and swept back from her face. The woman smiled softly at Barbara.

"I'm taking you somewhere safe, then home, all right?"

Barbara sighed, nodding. "Okay," she muttered before letting panic and exhaustion take her. Her world went blissfully black.

#

"I'll kill him!" a familiar voice—male—snarled.

"Calm down," a woman's voice—the one who had saved her—said.

"Selena's right. She needs to be treated first," another voice, yet another gravelly male and also familiar, answered.

"Sir, I have the young woman's IV in," a distinguished British voice announced. "And the wound on her arm is cleaned. Most likely, a bullet grazed her."

"What are you giving her?" the first male voice asked.

"Just some fluids. She was a touch malnourished, but not as badly as it could have been."

Barbara sighed, but she wasn't sure if the noise was done out loud or just in her mind. She either couldn't or wouldn't open her eyes yet, unsure if her rescue had been a dream. If it had, she wasn't ready to face that reality yet. As it stood, these people seemed nice and determined to make sure she was fine. She could feel a warm blanket over her body and pillow under her head.

"My dad," she tried to mutter, again unsure if she got the words out.

"Sssh, rest, sweetheart," the woman murmured comfortingly.

Barbara thought she even felt her pet her head.

"We'll contact the Commissioner and inform him of your safety once you're well," the gruffer of the male voices said.

"Good," she muttered, letting sleep take her once more.

#

Her eyes fluttered opened slowly. She had no idea how long she had been asleep, or if anything that had happened to her had been real. But the aches of her body assured her that at least the Joker's torture had been real. Once her world came into view, she was more than a little surprised to find herself in what looked like a cave—but not like any one she had ever been in before. This one had technology. A large computer could be seen in the distance, and she herself was in a hospital bed, an IV hooked into her arm and hanging on an IV pole. Even more surprising was Robin, standing over her, a look of clear relief on his face.

"She's awake!" he called over his shoulder, turning back to her.

He grabbed her hand, holding it in both of his. "It's okay, Babs. You're safe. You're all right."

Her eyes narrowed. The last time she remembered seeing Robin, he hadn't been quite so informal with her. The look must have been plain on her face because with a decisive nod, he reached up and removed his domino mask. She blinked, eyes wide.

"Jason?" she asked.

"Dammit," Batman swore, coming up beside his sidekick, followed by a woman in a black, skintight costume complete with cat-eared mask.

"You… You're Robin?" Barbara said, then pointing at Batman, she added, "So you're Bruce Wayne, aren't you?"

The Bat growled, but removed his mask all the same, indicating that she had been right. Catwoman, as Barbara knew the woman to be called, removed her mask as well, showing her to be the woman who had rescued her.

"My name's Selena Kyle, by the way," she put in.

"This was not what was discussed," Batman growled.

"I won't tell, I swear!" Barbara promised.

Jason grinned, jabbing a thumb in her direction. "See? Told you it would be fine."

Batman/Bruce Wayne shook his head. "Miss Gordon, you are safe here. But, that being said, we have quite a lot of things to discuss."


End file.
